


DETOUR

by lucitae



Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: M/M, POV shift, World Travel, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-05 09:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13384623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucitae/pseuds/lucitae
Summary: There's always a silver lining to be found even when plans go awry.Minhyun learns the hard way.





	1. PARIS

**Author's Note:**

  * For [catastrophes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catastrophes/gifts).



> Has it really only been 101 days since I first met you and yet I can't recall a time before then. It has become my greatest honor in being able to call you my friend. I'm terrible at conveying my gratitude so please accept this fic in its stead. Happy holidays (Valentine's + Lunar New Year), Jo.
> 
> This fic is based upon [this prompt](https://twitter.com/infede/status/932088453855977472) furthered by a hwang minhyun who won't let me [forget about it](https://twitter.com/realdefnik/status/940156650551259136).
> 
> Each chapter is the duration of a week. Each monument/place they visit is a day... more or less.

The last song ends. A new song picks up. A jarring contrast from the previous song. Seongwoo grimaces, tugs an earbud free from an ear, and digs into his coat pocket for his phone. The earbud dangles and he halts in the midst of a crowd, thumb skimming through the playlist looking for the perfect song to match the atmosphere.

The Eiffel Tower is to his back. The late afternoon sun bathing the entire city with a dreamlike quality. Seongwoo finds his lips curling, amused as he holds up his phone and takes a quick shot of himself and the tourist icon behind him.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

The words are laced with ice yet despite its volume it almost gets lost in the cacophony of the crowd. Seongwoo’s finger hovers over the play button, lips twisting into a smirk as he catches the tail end of a heated conversation. A lover’s spat in Paris. Oh, the irony.

It takes a moment before he realizes this entire argument is in Korean. An odd sense of displacement prompts him to look for the source despite his brain reasoning how commonplace it can be to hear native languages in foreign spaces due to globalization. Besides the fact that he is currently standing in front of a tourist hotspot.

A standoff between two men. Both of them are tall. But the one with paler skin has the sort of handsomeness that has Seongwoo’s guts twisting with envy.

The volume of people milling about forces Seongwoo to move. He loses sight of the couple.

The chorus sounds in one ear. Seongwoo must have accidentally pressed play somewhere in between.

 

 

 ✈

 

 

The bar is bustling with patrons and for a split second Seongwoo entertains the idea of leaving — retiring for the night and waking up earlier tomorrow to pop into a bakery the moment it is open for business.

But there are seats available at the bar itself, right beside a man whose face can only be described at handsome in a way that has Seongwoo inflicted with a bout envy. The unforgettable kind he had encountered hours before, underneath a tower at the heart of the most romantic city on planet Earth.

He’s not sure if it is the trick of the light but the man’s face seems to glow in a shade of red.

Like always, a mere whim causes him to slide into the seat beside the man who is more preoccupied with tracing his fingers along the rim of the glass than draining its contents. Like always, Seongwoo flashes one of his most disarming smiles at the bartender and orders his drink.

There are three other empty glasses of different shapes and sizes in front of the stranger with a reddening face. Seongwoo shoots the bartender a concerned glance and the bartender just shrugs.

“Any recommendations?” Seongwoo asks, startling the stranger who probably had not expected to hear something close to home in a city nearly 9000 kilometers away.

“Not really,” the stranger replies before grimacing as he stares down at the glass before him. A skewered olive sits at the base. “Whatever it is, not this.”

Seongwoo laughs, eyes crinkling.

“Celebrating?” Seongwoo prompts further, gesturing at the amount of glasses before him.

The stranger sighs, heavy. “Opposite of that actually.”

The bartender places Seongwoo’s order before him just in time. He tips his head, grateful, as he raises it towards the stranger. “Nothing that can’t be solved with a toast.”

“I’d beg to differ,” comes the retort but glasses clink anyway.

 

 

 

“Six weeks,” the man, who had later introduced himself as  _Minhyun, Hwang Minhyun_ , laughs bitterly into his fifth drink. “A month of research and hashing out the details and arranging hotels and booking flights all down the drain. Accumulated all my vacations to celebrate our third anniversary and he dumps me on our third day into the six week trip.”

Seongwoo takes another sip, resting his cheek against the back of his hand as he swirls the glass. “What are you going to do? Go home? Continue?”

The glare Minhyun shoots in Seongwoo’s direction is withering and Seongwoo finds himself having to contort his face to keep his amusement hidden.

“Of course I’m continuing!” Minhyun snaps, “with or without him.” Fire burns behind those eyes and a chuckle slips from Seongwoo’s lips. It’s cut off by a groan as Minhyun leans forward, burying his face into his hands. “I forgot I made most of it couple based.”

“What? Like swan pedal boats?”

Minhyun looks up and makes a face. “No. More like places people deem romantic.” He puts the last part in air quotes. “It’s rubbing salt in a wound to show up alone.”

“Well,” Seongwoo sounds, thoughtful as he takes another sip, “you don’t have to go alone.”

Minhyun peers from beneath his bangs, expression unreadable as he asks: “are you offering to join me?”

Seongwoo looks away, downing the last of his glass, setting it down with a clink before he answers. “If you’re willing.”

There is a sliver of a smile that dances on Minhyun’s lips as he pulls out a sheet protector, bulging from the amount of paper held within.

“What’s this?” Seongwoo asks as Minhyun slides it in his direction.

“The itinerary,” Minhyun explains before flagging down the bartender and asking for yet another drink.

 

 

 

Minhyun passes out somewhere between Seongwoo reading his plans for Prague and Copenhagen.

There’s something relatively peaceful about this scene, Seongwoo muses as he takes a break from all the black letters on white paper. ( The lack of pictures and Minhyun’s wording makes it read more as a report and less as a tour he would willingly cash in on. ) The stranger slumbers, blissfully unaware of the world, perhaps stuck in a reverie where the events of earlier today never happened. Maybe he’s reliving the three hour and thirty minute Parisian tour via a Citroën with a hand on his lover’s arm and the other toying with his glass of champagne. Or maybe his thumb removing the smudge of ice cream that has gotten on the corner of his lover’s lip, tasting caramel from Berthillon on Ile Saint Louis once more. Or maybe he’s re-experiencing the rush of the small but certain happiness of getting into the Louvre before it closes and exiting when the pyramid is aglow for a perfect pictorial.

The world spins on its axis, unable to know the contents of this man’s dream. The bartender dries yet another glass. The patrons come and go as the night dwindles. And Seongwoo finishes reading the itinerary. He closes both tabs, leaves a decent tip, and carefully transports the man lost in his own world to a place where dreams can continue uninterrupted.

 

 

✈

 

 

Minhyun wakes up with his mouth tasting like cotton balls and a head that pulsates with the second hand of the clock. The intensity of the sunlight that spills into the room despite the presence of drapes gives him an inkling about the time of day. Minhyun groans into the pillow before the details of the room begin to register. The pillows are much firmer than what he’s used to, totaling to a count of eight of various shapes and sizes. More than half of them lie on the beige carpeted floor. The room has walls that match the color scheme of the floor, trying to exude a sense of serenity by blending with the greens and blues of the bed itself.

This definitely isn’t his room.

He sits up.

Minhyun turns around and finds himself facing a man (  _the name’s Ong Seongwoo. Not Gong, Hong, or Ung but Ong Seongwoo_ ) seated on the dresser stool with his legs crossed, spreading butter over a slice of baguette. He holds it like an offering ( not unlike the way his fingers curled around a glass as he offered a toast ).

“Some food would do you some good. There’s juice as well, although, I prefer sports drinks,” Seongwoo nods in the direction of the bottle on the nightstand. “Advil just in case but I would caution against them. It upsets my stomach more than it soothes my head. I usually turn towards comfort food but,” Seongwoo mentions with a casual shrug, “you don’t seem the type. And we’re out of luck with  _haejangguk_  but, trust me, they wouldn’t make it like they do at home.”

Minhyun blinks before reaching out to accept the slice of bread ( not unlike how he took your painstakingly written itinerary ), still warm to the touch, carefully so that he doesn’t lose balance and fall to a disgraceful heap on the ground. “Sounds like you’ve had plenty of experience,” Minhyun comments before biting into the round slice of baguette in hand.

“Looks like you’ve had none,” Seongwoo retorts with a grin as he mirrors Minhyun’s actions.

 

 

 

“So,” Seongwoo begins as he sets down Minhyun’s itinerary before him, “where to? The plans for most of today can’t be followed through but we can still try. Or you can go back to the place you are staying and wash up.”

Minhyun stares at the itinerary and how the sheet protector hasn’t crinkled from carelessness and how the sheets are still stapled and unwrinkled at the corners. He looks at the time before reaching for the box of pills and chases two of them down with water.

“I’m good to go whenever you are,” Minhyun states as he sets the glass back on the nightstand.

Minhyun thinks it might be a trick of light when he catches the twinkle of amusement in Seongwoo’s eyes as he gathers his coat into his arms.

“Where did you think the baguette came from,” Seongwoo snorts, “definitely not room service.”

Minhyun fights the urge to roll his eyes. “Don’t make me regret allowing you to tag along.”

“You won’t,” Seongwoo says without missing a beat, “I will prove to be very useful company.”

 

 

✈

 

 

Minhyun should have taken Seongwoo’s advice and gone back, showered, changed out of these clothes or just give in to the jet lag and sleep the rest of the day away. Minhyun should have done a lot of things yet, instead, he chose to forge ahead — running straight into reminders. He adds another cut into a wound still bleeding.

The Temple de l’Amour stands majestically on the island it is housed. The setting sun paints the sky in pink and purple hues. The river splits at the foot of the island making it seem suspended in the middle of a lake. The water reflects the sky above: watercolors bleeding upon parchment. The man beside you is the wrong one, Minhyun’s brain unhelpfully supplies.

Minhyun wants to grab his old self by the collar and mock him for the hours spent crafting a romantic trip. Naivety or sheer delusion had him weaving this site into his list of destinations — on the mere notion that he might sink down on one knee and propose some everlasting bond.

Minhyun turns to look away from the temple as the boat travels closer.

“The temple was built in 1778, commissioned by the last queen of France: Queen Marie-Antoinette,” Seongwoo reads off the pamphlet, “to commemorate the love between her and the king.”

“You don’t seem to be the type to collect pamphlets,” Minhyun remarks.

Seongwoo clutches his chest with a “you jest” accompanied by a hurt expression that dissolves into a smile a moment later. “Yeah you’re right. I don’t care for these.” He waves the thin booklet in the air before reopening it. “But you do. I hope you brought extra sheet protectors because the one holding the itinerary will burst by the end of this trip.” 

“Do I seem so unprepared to you?” Minhyun retorts, feeling a smile starting to form at the edge of the lips.

Seongwoo raises a brow. “You tell me.” Before his attention is drawn back to the pamphlet in hand and notices: “it houses the replica of the Bouchardon statue. But I guess you probably saw the actual statue at the Louvre.”

Minhyun shrugs. “It’s probably more significant with context.”

“Tell me about it,” Seongwoo comments as he folds the pamphlet back up and looks towards the approaching island. “If you ever get a chance to see the British Museum and its impressive conquests, you’ll understand the importance of context. Even the most beautiful items can have less impact stuck behind a case. Try the Pergamon museum in Berlin for a change.”

 

 

 

In some ways, Minhyun acknowledges, that having the present company would have been better than coming alone and wallowing. There are a few individual tourists milling about, snapping away with their cameras at the impressive architectural structure that lies before them. The neo-classical structure can only be defined as mesmerizing with all the intricate details — the ceiling a work of art. But flanked on all sides, near the river bank and close to the temple, are lovers: straying hands on hips, heads leaning into the crook of the neck, photographs taken to commemorate this lovely day.

Seongwoo babbles on about the structure.

“You seem to know a lot,” Minhyun notes.

“The perks of dating a curator once upon a time I suppose. And in the effort to impress a curator you end up reading up about Greco-Roman history.” Seongwoo shoves his hands into his pockets and tilts his head as if gauging something from Minhyun’s expression. “The weather’s nice. The water’s serene. Let’s take a stroll through Her Majesty’s gardens instead of another boat ride.”

“Sure,” Minhyun agrees, flashing Seongwoo a grateful smile.

 

 

✈

 

 

“Hurry,” Minhyun calls from half a flight of stairs above where Seongwoo takes a short break, panting with a hand steadied upon his waist, “we have two minutes before we miss it.”

“Give me a second,” Seongwoo says between breaths.

“Your stamina is concerning for someone your age,” Minhyun retorts, sparing Seongwoo a glance after checking his watch. “Hurry,” he urges before taking off once more, certain Seongwoo will follow.

 

 

 

Seongwoo makes it by a fraction of his hair: the warning bell sounds as Seongwoo slips past doors beginning to slide shut.

 

 

✈

 

 

Seongwoo's leaning against the pole to steady himself as Minhyun grips the plastic ring above him, staring at his phone, face marred by a frown as he runs through the schedule under his breath. Barring any unexpected delays they should arrive roughly around noon at passage 159 of Rue du Faubourg Saint-Antoine. Two hours should be more than enough to spend at a restaurant, freeing their afternoon for a stroll.

“It’s amazing how you have everything planned out, down to the last minute,” Seongwoo says after his body has returned to its baseline vitals, catching all of Minhyun’s mutterings.

“How else did I manage to get promoted at 26,” Minhyun almost scoffs, “a year earlier than what I had expected.”

A smile weaves across Seongwoo’s lips. “Sounds like you have your life planned out as well.”

“Of course,” Minhyun says, looking up from his phone and shoving the device into his pocket. “Get promoted at 27, become engaged at 28, and be married by 30,” he lists off before the realization hits.

 _Look how well that turned out hangs_ in the air.

Seongwoo shifts uncomfortably. It’s not his fault.

“Just because life puts a dent into one plan doesn't mean the others can't be followed through,” Minhyun finds himself saying with a certain sense of confidence he doesn’t feel and wonders who he is trying to persuade with such a line.

 

 

✈

 

 

They arrive a little past noon thanks to Seongwoo’s insistence in slowing their pace. _Enjoy the scenery,_ he whined. Followed by a _were you a drill sergeant_ and another of plethora of complaints Minhyun paid no attention to _._ He did, however, slow down on occasion in the guise of trying to find alleyway 159 and admire the cobblestone streets, vines that crawled up walls, bikes haphazardly parked for convenience, and the thick iron bar that framed windows.

The alleyway has a few tables set up outside like a scene from an old Disney movie. There’s a bit more taste in the selection of the table cloth compared to the checkered red and white but Minhyun frowns when he looks up at the name emblazoned outside the restaurant. Instead of the _Sample Fabrizio_ Minhyun had expected it read  _Capucine_.

Seongwoo places a firm hand on Minhyun’s shoulder before walking past him, a pleasant smile on his face as he ducks into _Capucine_ , dispelling the knitted brows that seem to have found a permanent place on Minhyun’s face.

“Looks like the information was a bit outdated,” Seongwoo says moments later, stepping out of the restaurant. “They changed ownership and spaghetti is not always served. Like today for instance.” Seongwoo takes a quick look back at the restaurant and frowns. “Also less of a formal restaurant and more of a café but apparently the food is still authentic Italian.”

“How can this be?” Minhyun says, face mirroring Seongwoo’s, “I crossreferenced—”

“Besides...” Seongwoo cuts Minhyun off, meeting his eyes, “there’s no point in a Lady and the Tramp reenactment if there’s no one to hold the other end.”

“Not the one you want,” Seongwoo finishes, barely audible. Minhyun flushes from how easily he’s read and looks away.

“If you really want spaghetti,” Seongwoo amends, “there’s _La Capannina_ across from where _Midnight in Paris_ was filmed. It’s not far from where Ernest Hemingway used to reside.”

Minhyun remains silent, no longer in the mood for spaghetti. What was he thinking? Insisting on coming to a place to reenact a scene from someone else’s favorite childhood memory.

( _An instagram photo_ , the Minki in Minhyun’s head voices, _you holding a strand between your lips, have him hold the other end with one hand while the other hand takes a picture. Upload it. Make him seethe._ )

“I know a place...” Seongwoo trails off, sounding hesitant, lacking that sense of confidence he carried himself with when they first met in that bar. “If you don’t wish to dine here.”

Minhyun turns to look at Seongwoo, flashing him a small but grateful smile.

 

 

✈

 

 

“It’s a lot busier after _Me Before You_ ,” Seongwoo notes, with interest as he takes in the amount of customers and pedestrians that halt to take a quick snap at the film location.

Minhyun can’t deny how he’s slightly impressed by the restaurant Seongwoo has led them to. They sit outside the old school bistro where a large umbrella shades them from the sun, facing the one of the prettiest squares in Paris — the Place Dauphin — at the heart of the historic Ile de la Cité.

“Sounds like you’ve been here often,” Minhyun comments.

Seongwoo sets the menu in his hands down at that statement, the palm of both hands sharing the weight of his chin as his lips curl into the semblance of a smirk and he looks at Minhyun in a way that makes Minhyun want to look away. “You’re sitting in my favorite seat,” he points out with a jut of his chin. “This was the first place I visited, the first city I traveled to on a break and somehow I end up back here more often than any other place.”

There’s reminiscence in those eyes, a distant yet fond recollection.

“First year. Older than all the rest of the kids in my grade because I enlisted right out of high school. Didn’t want a weird break in between schooling, you know? And applied for a school in London, made some friends. So when they said _Let’s go to Paris_ I just went with them. I’ve gone to a few other cities but…” Seongwoo trails off, looking back at Minhyun once more. “Even after graduating, after earning my barista certification, I find myself drawn back here on longer weekends.”

“I sit, where you are, for a few hours in the afternoon. Work my way through two cups of coffee, watching people, trying to figure out what I love about this place and how to take home with me.” Seongwoo smiles, eyes gentle at the edges.

He thanks the waiter when a freshly brewed cup of coffee is set before him. The smile grows as he lifts it to his lips and takes a sip. “This isn’t a coffee house but the coffee is excellent.”

“I don't drink coffee,” Minhyun replies, taking a sip of water.

“Pity,” Seongwoo sounds, amusement at the corners of his lips.

“You said you wanted to take this home with you?” Minhyun asks, still processing Seongwoo’s words and the affection he holds for this place. Minhyun supposes it isn’t hard to fall in love with a place but Seongwoo looks at Restaurant Paul as if he’s seeing it for the last time.

Seongwoo nods and sets down the cup of coffee. “I’m planning on opening my own coffee shop,” he explains, “My father gave me an ultimatum a few months ago and this is my response.”

Seongwoo seems to notice the unasked question and continues with a: “he wants me to come home to _stop wasting your youth. Find a proper job. Settle down_ ,” he says with air quotes and Minhyun can’t quite believe the individual sitting across from his is his age ( can’t believe there’s a small chuckle threatening to bubble past his lips ). “Or he’ll cut off all financial support, which will leave me in a bind because I work part time and travel full time.”

“Wow,” Minhyun deadpans, about to make a remark dripping with sarcasm when Seongwoo picks up again.

He’s looking past Minhyun, out into Place Dauphin where the spacious park has rows of finely trimmed trees flanked by a lamppost at the very end. “I want to create a safe space for people to be themselves and to want to share that space with others, create memories. But there’s only two ways to do it,” Seongwoo muses, “have the interior design be so memorable, cozy, at home that people return or use the surroundings, contextualize its significance.” A gentle breeze blows. Minhyun notices three moles on Seongwoo’s cheek. Their gazes meet. Seongwoo’s eyes become half moons. Edges soften.

“I want to bring people happiness. Set them at ease. Like this place has done for me,” Seongwoo finishes.

Minhyun barely knows the man sitting across from him but is struck with the desire to say _you will_.

 

 

✈

 

 

They are sitting at Le Maison Rose, aptly named with the walls painted in pink, in Montmartre. Nearly every table is taken with couples leaning too closely, reminding Minhyun of Temple de l'Amour. The sun is setting, colors of the horizon blending with the walls of the picturesque café.

“I can’t believe you are here in October and have no plans of going to Munich,” Seongwoo says, wine swirling in the glass.

“I don’t drink,” Minhyun replies. His glass untouched.

There’s a moment of silence. Seongwoo who seems to purse his lips before he says: “we met at a bar.”

“I was desperate,” Minhyun says before busying himself with the plate before him. Seongwoo doesn’t push it, following suit by digging in and offering a bite for Minhyun to try.

 _What’s the point of spending so much money to travel_ , Seongwoo had said with a laugh, the sun harsh enough to color his hair in a lighter shade, _and not try anything?_ That was a few hours ago at the Parc des Buttes Chaumont where Seongwoo was trying to goad Minhyun to leave the itinerary because they still had time to explore and grab a bottle of house rosé at Rosa Bonheur. Maybe enjoy it at the grotte. Minhyun had turned his nose at the remark and continued to trek down to the foot of the waterfall where the shade added a touch of the mystique. The air degrees cooler at the base of the waterfall. An arch overhead where the light shone through. Minhyun had almost wanted to point out how his idea was much better compared to Seongwoo’s but turned around to find a breathless Seongwoo — agape at the scene before him.

Seongwoo decided to follow with only a few minor complaints here and there after that.

The village hidden in the 19th arrondissement is only accessible by three staircases or a winding road. Minhyun chose the former, finding himself laughing at the reenactment of the subway scene ( with an added dramatic flair ), but in no rush unlike last time. Minhyun waits, with patience this time, a few steps ahead as Seongwoo catches up.

It’s worth it. The scene sprawls out beneath their feet: Montmartre lies across town, the sunlight a perfect halo over Sacré Coeur. So entranced by the sight, Seongwoo had to point out the vineyard right under their nose before Minhyun noticed it. One of the last three remaining in Paris.

Again, a pair of melancholic eyes meet Minhyun’s before it disappears in a wave. _Let’s go there next_ , he says, pointing at the rows of vines, _or maybe a more famous one: Clos de Montmatre_.

Minhyun swaps a bite for a bite like he had been persuaded into doing at Restaurant Paul yesterday. This time a little less reluctant than before.

 

 

 

“I was desperate,” Minhyun continues after utensils have been set down and left untouched for minutes. “My friends are a continent away; deep in sleep when I needed someone to talk to and the one you usually turn to when your world has shattered in a blink of an eye is the one who caused all the sorrow…” he trails off, forcing a smile to his face before he continues: “the only solace I could find, the only shoulder I could lean on, was in liquor.”

He thinks Seongwoo understands. A brief flash of recognition ( of empathy perhaps ) appears in those eyes. Silent as if considering the next words to say. Not that Minhyun needs them. He’s far more surprised at his willingness to talk about it three days after it had happened.

“So,” Minhyun says instead, leaning back in his chair as the moon becomes more visible, “what’s so special about oktoberfest?” Minhyun adds an emphasis to the word and Seongwoo’s face scrunches at the attempted accent — the one that looks like he’s constipated from holding in a laugh.

Minhyun’s laugh rings loud in the night sky.

 

 

✈

 

 

“If I walked down by different streets to the Jardin du Luxembourg in the afternoon,” Seongwoo says and there’s a certain air of childishness to him as he walks along the Fontaine Médicis. If they were a few years younger maybe they could have gotten away with more dangerous acts like trying to balance at the edge of banks of the Grand Bassin pond and Minhyun would have joined the stupidity, skipping along, uncaring of all the eyes upon them. “I could walk through the gardens and then go to the Musée du Luxembourg where the great paintings were,” Seongwoo recites, stirring an old memory, “that have now mostly been transferred to the Louvre and the Jeu de Paume.” He finishes with flourish and turns around to look at Minhyun who had stilled, a few feet away from him.

Minhyun thinks of the short blurb he’s read on this place. How it was created by a Médici hence held that Florentine twist ( not that he’s ever been to Florence to confirm that fact. But Seongwoo probably could ). How it was created in the 17th century and served as a muse to photographers like Atget, Brassaï, and Doisneau. How the painter Watteau paid homage to it as well. How Victor Hugo consistently wrote it into _Les Misérables_. And how, like in the short passage Seongwoo had recited, Ernest Hemingway had woven it into his stories.

How they had past 100 statues of queens and saints he didn’t know the name of but history probably does. The contrast between the cold and immobile stone and the flesh and blood that mill about — how the things that are alive make less of an impression. The world doesn’t care until you can no longer move.

And as if in contrast to all of this, the garden hosts apple and pear orchards. There are flowerbeds with oranges, dahlias, dates, and gillyflowers. Pomegranate trees that hang low and full with their fruit as tempting as the myths make them out to be.

The wind rustles the branches above and all around, sending ripples along the fountain, messing with Seongwoo’s hair that he had painstakingly taken time to style before they came. Minhyun shakes his head, a chuckle slipping past his lips as Seongwoo looks at him puzzled. Of all things Seongwoo could have quoted in a place like this — instead of the letters exchanged between Anaïs Nin and Henry Miller — he chose Hemingway.

Apt, Minhyun supposes, leaving him to feel like a sap ; like the claws from his former love has not quite been withdrawn. Of course it wouldn’t be.

“But if the light was gone in the Luxembourg,” Minhyun begins. Light filters in between the leaves, refracting against the surface of water, reflecting in eyes. Minhyun takes a step closer. “I would walk up through the gardens,” Minhyun recites, taking a step with each word he utters, “and stop in at the studio apartment where Gertrude Stein lived at 27 rue de Fleurus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * The Citroën tour of Paris Minhyun and his ex went on (briefly mentioned) is based on [this](http://2cvparistour.com/the-2cv-great-escape/).
>   * The hotel Seongwoo stays at is [Relais Christine](https://relais-christine.com/): a beautiful hotel that weaves history into walls. I couldn't justify Seongwoo using a garden suite so I settled for the cozy room instead. Maybe next time. During an anniversary *whistles to the wind*.
>   * If you want more information on the Temple de l'Amour click [here](http://traveltriangle.com/blog/temple-of-love-paris/).
>   * Most of the "romantic places" to visit are borrowed from [this article](http://www.messynessychic.com/2016/02/11/10-romantic-things-to-do-in-paris-other-than-love-locking-on-a-bridge/).
>   * I fell in love with the [Place Dauphin](https://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/0f/ed/2e/ec/place-dauphine-with-restaurant.jpg) while watching Me Before You so I had to mention it.
>   * The grotte refers to [this beautiful place](https://img1.10bestmedia.com/Images/Photos/308495/p-Waterfall-in-the-Grotte-2C-Parc-des-Buttes-Chaumont-2C-Paris-27-April-2014_54_990x660.jpg).
>   * I stole the [quote](https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/805771-if-i-walked-down-by-different-streets-to-the-jardin). It's like the least romantic thing you can ever recite to anyone, especially in Jardin du Luxembourg.
> 



	2. AMSTERDAM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for recreational drug use in this chapter. it's amsterdam.

Against a backdrop of buildings that reminds Minhyun he’s in Europe is the world’s only floating flower market. 15 florists, centered on one side of the street, suspended by pillars in the canal, hosting a selection of tulips bundled and sorted by color like peppers. There are trays of dried buds with pictures attached for identification, rows of packets of flower seeds, small souvenirs to highlight Bloemenmarkt as a tourist hub, and dried bouquets that hang from the ceiling to drive the point home. They walk past the magnets and the tiny wooden clogs and the signs that read _50 tulpen €10_.

It’s beautiful with the sun filtering through the green house roofs until Minhyun remembers why he had woven it into the trip: amidst the flowers, amidst the blossoms, amidst the vibrant atmosphere he had imagined sinking onto one knee and being promised an eternity.

“A flower market?” Seongwoo asks, disrupting Minhyun from his train of thought, trying to stretch himself out after the short 80 minute flight, still insistent that they should have taken the train instead. Cheaper, more sightseeing, making it a leisure trip. Minhyun had just given him a long glance that had shut Seongwoo up properly. After all, who was paying for all of this?

“What?” Minhyun replies, voice impassive while wearing the same look as he did on the flight here, “Are you allergic?”

Seongwoo shakes his head. “I just don’t see the point.” They pass by another stall. “They don’t last. They perish.” He tilts his head, looking at Minhyun while grinning when he says: “at least you can eat chocolates.”

He earns a snort.

Another stall. Past all the tulips still somewhat concealed by their buds, two colors blending in a way that almost seemed shy. There’s an odd collection in one stall: hosting a variety of flowers. Shades of blue and purples stand out the most. A cluster of hydrangeas — both the blue and pink varieties. Sunflowers to one side. More he can’t name. And hidden in them all are red roses tucked in between all the more serene colors.

“That’s the beauty of it isn’t it?” Minhyun finds himself saying as he halts before the shop, staring at all that lies before him. “How fleeting it is.” They seem to have been plucked today. Maybe they’ll last a week, longer if lucky and with the right preventative measures. In the end it’ll all end up like the flowers overhead in that one shop. “Makes you treasure it more.”

“Sounds like you know a lot,” Seongwoo says, “Did you once work at a flower shop?”

“No.” A chuckle slips past lips. “That was a boyfriend of a friend’s.”

Seongwoo lets out a dramatic gasp when he asks Minhyun for the name of a flower and what it means and Minhyun is unable to reply. “And they didn’t think of gifting you a dictionary?” he asks, scandalized.

Minhyun lets out a laugh. “That was years ago.”

Seongwoo’s eyes linger over a particular flower with a very gentle shade of violet, nearly pastel. Petals that spread far apart with a touch of fragility to them as if they were on the verge of dissolution. It almost looks like a rose but rose petals are thicker, more vibrant in color. Perhaps closer to peonies but with fewer petals, a smaller blossom.

“Lisianthus,” Seongwoo says, voice as soft as the petals appear to be, the petals Seongwoo touches with his fingertips, “said to symbolize appreciation.”

He catches the look on Minhyun’s face a moment later and returns to the Seongwoo he has gotten to know in the past few days. He leaves the flowers alone with a simple shrug and a laugh. “My sister used to be obsessed with flowers and their meanings,” Seongwoo explains, “she would keep the bouquets she received from her suitors and press the most beautiful flower into a bookmark.”

“And then she promptly forgot about them,” Seongwoo laughs as he recalls fondly, “so I would find pressed flowers tucked between book pages or the finished bookmarks dropped in far corners where you would least expect to find them.”

“What did you do with them?” Minhyun asks as Seongwoo’s gaze drifts back to the flowers.

“Hmm?” Seongwoo sounds before the question registers and he turns back towards Minhyun. “Put them in a box. She’ll thank me later.”

“You’re awfully sentimental,” Minhyun notes.

It’s followed by a _pfft_ and a “nah. It’s just… I don’t want all her hard work to go to waste.” The way Seongwoo stares at Minhyun is unsettling, as if he _knows_. Minhyun looks away, wondering when he had become so transparent.

 

 

 

“Oh come on,” Seongwoo goads, “you came all the way to Amsterdam and you aren’t even going to take a commemorative photo?” He tugs at Minhyun’s arms, lips pulling into a semblance of a pout.

“What’s the point?”

“Envy,” Seongwoo says simply, “why else does anyone upload anything to social media if not to flaunt what they have?”

Reluctantly, Minhyun surrenders his phone to Seongwoo who flashes him a quick grin.

“I knew you had pettiness in your system,” Seongwoo says all too cheerfully and Minhyun just scoffs at that as Seongwoo takes a few steps back.

“No. Don’t look at me,” Seongwoo scolds as he holds Minhyun’s phone with one hand and waves with the other.

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

“Act natural,” Seongwoo says dismissive and Minhyun gives him a pointed look before resigning to stare at the tulips. Seongwoo shifts with him: coming closer, crouching low, tilting his phone in various angles before the concentration on his face breaks out into a pleased smile.

He hands Minhyun’s phone back to Minhyun with a triumphant _tada_. “Candid photos are the best,” Seongwoo says.

“There was nothing candid about this,” Minhyun points out as he studies the photograph. It’s good. The kind you would make into your display picture, the kind that makes Minhyun look softer than usual ( a tender look in his eyes ), the kind that captures the background and contextualizes it into a succinct photograph that tells you both everything and nothing at all. ( Nothing because the photographer that had captured this with the utmost care remains elusive. )

“Is anything candid anymore?” Seongwoo says while attempting to peak over Minhyun’s shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse at the caption Minhyun is adding underneath. Minhyun turns away. Seongwoo follows. Minhyun’s posts the photograph quickly and shoves the phone into his pockets before Seongwoo can see, laughing at the disappointed look that crosses Seongwoo’s face.

 

 

✈

 

 

Seongwoo yawns without bothering to cover his mouth, wind further tousling hair that has remained unkempt from the lack of time to style it.

“How are people motivated enough to line up two hours before it even opens?” he asks, face laden with sleep as he looks at the line that has started to curl around the corner.

“Easy for you to say,” Minhyun remarks, holding the tickets he purchased months ago in his hand, “you’ve probably been here before.”

Seongwoo blinks. “I haven’t.” He shrugs when Minhyun turns towards him. “I’ve never been in Amsterdam for longer than a weekend and there is always a line for Anne Frank’s house,” Seongwoo gestures at the line that continues to grow, seeping into the park beside it, following the curl of the curb. “Even before it is about to close.”

“Well aren’t you lucky,” Minhyun says as his smile grows wry, waving the tickets in front of Seongwoo’s face, “you get to tag along for free.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Seongwoo sounds dismissively as a smile grows on his face in return.

He shifts his weight between his feet as the hour approaches — minutes dwindling away as anticipation builds. The hint of nervousness starting to affect Minhyun too so he searches for a way to take an edge off it. “What did you use to do in Amsterdam?”

Seongwoo gives him a smile that makes Minhyun nearly regret asking in the first place, one so energetic all traces of sleep have disappeared. “Night life of course,” he answers easily, like the first time they had met, “what else could it be?”

 

 

 

The tour is done in relative somber silence. Seongwoo continues to surprise Minhyun: personality and his first impression not aligning as often as he assumed they would. The only light hearted moment being over the comments in the guest book.

A gentle breeze greets them when they step out of the gift shop. Seongwoo mentions a pancake house for brunch and Minhyun almost considers it.

 

 

✈

 

 

“How can this be?” Minhyun demands as he glares at the line outside the Van Gogh Museum and the projected wait of more than two hours to get in. What even was the point of buying tickets beforehand? “I specifically assigned us to be here for three hours and it’s raining,” he gestures at the sky that has begun to drizzle, the itinerary gets waved around in his hand, tone elevating as he rambles, “there’s nothing else we can do—”

Seongwoo pries the itinerary from Minhyun’s and rips it in one motion.

Minhyun gapes.

The two halves become reduced to even smaller slivers as Seongwoo continuously tears into it until all of Minhyun’s efforts are reduced to smithereens.

“What in the world do you—” Minhyun starts, fists clenched but he gets interrupted, again.

“Why,” Seongwoo begins, tone impassive, “do you even have three hours blocked out to spend here?”

Minhyun parts his lips for a retort but then presses them together into a thin line once more. _It’s a tourist attraction_ doesn’t cut it and from the way Seongwoo’s eyes bore into him probably means he’s guessed at it. The plans are still catered towards someone else’s interest and Minhyun has no intent on changing them so why does a stranger even care?

“Stop throwing yourself a pity party,” Seongwoo snaps, “You finally saved enough for this trip only to mourn over someone who clearly doesn't care enough. What are you going to do for three hours in a permanent exhibit that maybe displays two dozen paintings? Hope to catch a glimpse of the one who left you? Chase after a shadow?” There’s a small laugh at the very end, the one incredulous, the one that given out of anger. “Just because one plan falls through doesn’t mean you have to follow the others to a T. What are you trying to prove? You’ve spent so much time and effort for this trip but are you even having fun?”

Something tells Minhyun this comes from experience. Not that he cares. Minhyun has half the mind to turn on his heels and just walk or perhaps go to the very back of the line and wait to get in.

“Look,” Seongwoo says, running a hand through his hair, tone softer than what it had been moments ago, “the tickets you purchased are good for this entire week. We can come early tomorrow. Swap today’s agenda with tomorrow’s and nothing really changes.”

 

 

 

There’s a stiff sort of uncomfortable silence that hangs between them. Minhyun folds his arms across his chest and stares out into the square as Seongwoo excuses himself with who knows what. Minhyun has stopped listening.

There’s a large pond that leads up to the entrance of Rijksmuseum and large **I Am** sterdam at the very edge of the water. Tourists mill about. Some lying on the grass, some dipping their feet into their pond, some just trying to get from one museum to the other. A few of them stand outside of the Rijksmuseum, taking pictures, trying to capture the entirety along with the large red and white letters that boldly informs people where they are.

Minhyun is sits on a metal seat, a few tables away from the line of vendors. A flock of pigeons approach in search of crumbs from previous careless patrons and Minhyun dusts his table with a few sweeps, quiet as he watches the birds peck at the ground for scraps.

The drizzle never became a downpour. The sun had already dried whatever traces of rain had been left behind. Minhyun is thankful for the shade from the trees.

 

 

 

Seongwoo comes back, ten minutes later perhaps. ( Minhyun has lost track of time. ) There’s a grin on his face that Minhyun looks on with marked disinterest but Seongwoo looks far too pleased with himself and has offered what looks like a thin waffle in a paper bag. Minhyun takes it with a nod of acknowledgement.

“Stroopwafel,” Seongwoo explains, “much better warm where the syrup is still all syrupy than whatever they sell in souvenir shops.”

Minhyun gives it a try. The two thin layers of baked dough still pretty hot to the touch, making Minhyun wonder how he missed Seongwoo’s encounter with the vendor when all he has been doing is people and pigeon watching. The saccharine sweetness of caramel almost drips down the corner of his lips. His tongue darts out to keep it from making an unnecessary mess. It’s good. Not that Minhyun would make it known. Seongwoo’s satisfaction is the last thing he wants to see.

“Ahh,” Seongwoo sounds with syrup and crumbs plastered at the corner of his lips, “I bought tickets for the canal cruise.” Probably the reason why he disappeared for ten minutes or more but presented as an afterthought. Minhyun slides the napkins towards Seongwoo, gesturing at the area where untidiness reigned.

They stay like that for a few minutes: a blanket of silence as the pigeons continue to try to search for crumbs and tourists roam about.

Seongwoo breaks it first, setting down his empty bag as Minhyun takes another bite.

“Remember how I told you about the curator I dated?” Seongwoo starts, legs crossed as he stares out into the pond where a dog frolics with its master in tow. “When we broke up, I retraced our steps, went to every museum we had ever visited — perhaps in hopes, by chance, we would run into each other again. But all that remained were soured memories. Soured because of the bitter aftertaste and the rage. Soured because the mind tries to glorify past moments, make them better than what they actually were.” There’s a forced chuckle at the very end, one two parts nostalgic and one part in mockery.

He falls silent for a moment, long enough for Minhyun to finish the last bite and fold away the paper bag into a small square.

“The point is,” Seongwoo says, this time meeting Minhyun’s eyes, “it’s okay if the Van Gogh Museum is too busy today. We can return later today or early tomorrow. We can even choose to have pancakes for dinner.” His eyes almost sparkle when he says that last part, too much enthusiasm in a tone for it to be a mere joke to lighten the mood. Minhyun fights the urge to smile, however small, at that.

“The only limitations are those you set for yourself,” Seongwoo finishes.

The afternoon sun is warm, bright enough to escape past the canopy of leaves, spilling directly onto Seongwoo.

His eyes are unwavering, accompanied by a soft curl of lips bordering sheepish that presents it as kind. So Minhyun decides to accept the stroopwafel as a peace offering and says: “didn’t expect you to be so wise, _Ong Seongwoo-ssi_.”

Seongwoo fakes a gasp, hand over heart, expression injured. “I am full of wisdom, _Hwang Minhyun-ssi_.”

 

 

 

The dome of the ship is crafted like a greenhouse, providing no shelter from the heat of the sun. Air circulates through open windows. Leaning out too far can earn you a few splashes from the canal, or so Minhyun had learned and decided not to mind when a few droplets landed on his arm. There’s an explanation occasionally announced overhead that Seongwoo translates and Minhyun barely pays attention to, fascinated by the scenery they pass by. He’s lost count of the bridges they’ve passed under, watched as people went about their daily lives, and noted the architecture that flanked the banks.

When they pass under a particular bridge and it begins to recede into the distance, allowing Minhyun to see the bikes that have been chained to the rail to prevent theft and the shoes of pedestrians, Seongwoo says: “doesn’t it remind you of anything?” with a nudge of his shoulder.

Minhyun tilts his head.

Seongwoo makes a rectangle with his fingers towards the stern of the boat. “Just imagine: someone strumming a guitar, crooning a love song, in a soft blue sweater.”

It takes Seongwoo humming the first few notes for Minhyun to catch on. He laughs. “Eddy Kim? The Manual?”

Seongwoo joins him, the last note airy as his head falls against the seat. “Yeah how did you miss it?” He looks up at Minhyun, hair threatening to fall into eyes, sunlight making his irises a lighter shade of brown.

Minhyun shrugs. Looks away. “I didn’t know what city it was filmed in. Just looked like a pretty European city.” Chin rested on the palm of his hand, supported by the elbow against the sill. “The tram scenes made more of an impression.”

“Let’s do that next.”

Minhyun nods. The chorus running through his head, tempting him to hum it underneath his breath.

 

 

 

What’s surprising is that the tram isn’t packed in the late afternoon where it threatens to dip into early evening, depending on how the sun embraces the horizon. They squeeze towards the end of the tram, mumbling apologies under breath as they maneuver their way. Some quietly step aside; others cast a look of disdain. Seongwoo’s grip around Minhyun’s wrist is firm. He doesn’t let go until they reach the cold metal bars underneath the windows.

Seongwoo turns around, hands mimicking the action of clicking a camera and capturing Minhyun against the window like in the music video, a silent offer to take a picture for him.

The tram jerks to a stop. There’s barely any unloading as more individuals clamor on. Minhyun reaches out, fingers circling around Seongwoo’s wrist as he pulls Seongwoo back towards the rear window.

“There’s no need,” Minhyun says, lips curling into the semblance of a smile. After all, what was the point of bragging about a trip if you aren’t enjoying it?

He pulls out his phone, plugs in his earphones, and offers an earbud to Seongwoo who takes it with a quizzical expression. Minhyun waits until Seongwoo fits the bud into his ear before he presses play.

The song spills forth, narrowing the world into something shared between two people. Minhyun leans against the metal bars, turned sideways so that he is both facing Seongwoo and able to stare out the window and watch as they wind through Amsterdam. The late afternoon stirs something within Minhyun. The sun has started to dye the world in its color — a contrast to the lyrics sung in the song.

It is reflex when “get up first in the morning, turning on jazz” makes its way past Minhyun’s lips. There’s no point in ceasing so he continues with “gentle kiss, I’ll look at you.”

The tram continues to make its way through the city. Minhyun identifies places they’ve walked past, the routes they’ve taken, sites they’ve visited in the past few days.

That momentary peace shatters when he realizes a voice that is not his own has joined him.

“Sometimes, leave together without a plan,” Seongwoo sings. Minhyun meets his eyes through the corner of his own.

Matching smiles. An attempt to harmonize.

  

> _Let her breathe under a different sky, a different wind  
>  Sometimes, kiss her without a plan  
>  Just like the day I fell for you without reason_

 

 

✈

 

 

Minhyun runs into Seongwoo again on the third floor. He’s standing in front of one of the last paintings in the permanent exhibit. Minhyun takes a quick glance at the time. 95 minutes have passed.

He reads every placard next to each canvas and slowly works his way around Van Gogh’s last years.

Seongwoo still stands in front of the same portrait. Minhyun joins him, hands clasped behind his back.

“Fascinating,” Seongwoo proffers without glancing at Minhyun. Minhyun hums in agreement.

“Which one was your favorite?”

“Hmmm,” Minhyun sounds. “All of them. None of them. The ones that are here and the ones that aren’t.”

Seongwoo looks at him then. That pensiveness from earlier has gone without a trace, broken into a smile. “Now you’re just playing in riddles.”

“ _Fishing Boats on the Beach at Saintes-Maries_ ,” Minhyun says, “if I had to pick one.”

A moment later: “and yours?”

An exchange of positions: the one that was looking is the one to be looked.

“The curation,” he says simply, eyes distant, “as if we are walking through a biography.”

Minhyun nods in agreement.

“Well…” Seongwoo starts, eyes clear and focused this time when he turns around to meet Minhyun’s eyes, “what now?”

“Brunch,” Minhyun answers.

“We still have another hour,” Seongwoo says, teasing, “get our money’s worth by walking through the exhibit once more.”

Minhyun makes a face. “I think I’m good.”

“Lucky for you,” Seongwoo says with too much pride in his tone, causing Minhyun to chuckle, “I know a pancake place nearby.”

“You’re not going to let me leave Amsterdam without giving it a try are you?”

Seongwoo smiles at Minhyun in a way that answers his question. “You won’t regret it, I promise.”

 

 

✈

 

 

Minhyun sits in front of a large plane of glass, one that spans from the ceiling to the floor, trying to keep himself from fidgeting under the gaze of the occasional pedestrian that looks up at him. For a moment he can almost imagine bright lights instead of this glow cast off from neon tubes, cameras capturing him from different angles as he’s forced to smile regardless of how he feels that day, and the personality traits he has to present so that it doesn’t shatter someone else’s fantasy because this life is not his own — at least not on this side of the glass.

He’s an object.

It leaves a sour taste in the back of his throat.

“Powerful isn’t it?” Seongwoo says from the chair next to him, from the window beside his, face impassive as he stares down at the people who pass by and the faces that scrunch up because these windows aren’t like the others. They aren’t meant to be. Minhyun had just passed through two rooms, fully furnished, with anecdotes of the individuals who had once used the spaces — the circumstances that landed them in this red light district. He had spent almost half an hour downstairs in the small theater, learning about the day and life of those who work in the red light district.

Minhyun nods. The apprehensiveness from Seongwoo’s suggestion to come to the red light district mostly dissolved.

He gives Seongwoo a long look then, noting how the moles on his cheek seem to fade into skin under this light, finding the tension in his shoulders resolving a notch because he’s nothing like what Minhyun had expected.

 

 

✈

 

 

“Can you tell me where the Milky Way is?” Seongwoo says into Minhyun’s ear, face a little flushed from the glasses of beer he had drank to accompany his dinner — drinking Minhyun’s “share” as well — whilst telling Minhyun how it was the wrong season to visit Leidseplein. _Summers are the best_ , Seongwoo had illustrated with a lazy wave of his hand, _a drink in hand on the terrace basking in the sun_. _There’s musicians, jugglers, and mimers_. _You’ll never get bored_.

Which almost compels Minhyun to ask Seongwoo if he is, in this moment, but doesn’t because dinner is on Minhyun and anyone would lie for free food.

So Minhyun looks at the sky above. The sky where stars can’t be seen because of the streetlights and the neon signs that drowns out distant lights. Seongwoo chuckles, limbs loose and languid, like a child almost, when he catches Minhyun staring at the black expanse above.

“De Melkweg,” Seongwoo says, the foreign word rolls over his tongue, “a temple for music. An old milk factory refurbished. Where the likes of us get on our knees and worship in tandem with the beats that blares out from the bass speakers.”

 

 

 

Minhyun gets drunk in a way that hasn’t happened since his early twenties. It is not from liquor but rather from the absence of it — a reminder that blood is just liquid held in veins that boil and pulsate to the voices crooning through speakers.

Seongwoo catches Minhyun’s gaze and smiles, sweat matting hair, a droplet making its way down his face. Minhyun can feel his own, tickling the side of his face as it slides towards his neck. He throws his head back and laughs, from the depth of his heart, the sound of it drowned in the roar of music.

 

 

 

 _You can’t come to Leidseplein_ , Seongwoo had said, breath tickling the shell of Minhyun’s ear to make sure his voice is heard over all the noise, _and not go to a coffee shop_. _The most famous one isn’t too far from here_.

So Minhyun found himself seated in The Bulldog Havri where the two facing bulldog logos sandwich the old PolitieBureau N 14 sign. It doesn’t take long for him to figure out that they aren’t here for the coffee. The place is busy. They are lucky enough to find a seat that overlooks the square.

“It isn’t bad,” Seongwoo says with a dismissive wave of his hand, “but it isn’t what you come here for.”

“Then why call it a coffee shop?” Minhyun asks with a frown as he reads through the menu.

“Why call it anything?” Seongwoo says before catching the expression on Minhyun’s face and laughing. “Probably because they wanted to capture the coffeehouse feeling. Doesn’t matter what product they are selling.”

“Here,” Seongwoo says while spreading out his arms, “recreates the atmosphere of the living room, concentrates the essence of a coffeehouse. After all, coffee and smoke really goes together.” The last part is said as an reiteration of something someone once told him.

Seongwoo leans forward then, gazing at Minhyun in a way that forces Minhyun to meet his eyes. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want,” Seongwoo says, eyes sincere, “have a cup of chocomel and call it a day. Or try a space cake.”

Which is what Minhyun ultimately ends up doing, still a bit tipsy from Milky Way as he watches Seongwoo slowly melt into his seat. His fingers are curled around a joint, the end of it a soft orange glow that matches with the interior lighting, as smoke drifts out lazily between lips not unlike the curl of steam from the cup of coffee just in reach of Seongwoo’s hand. A small giggle makes its way past his lips. He’s unable to pinpoint the source of amusement when Seongwoo cocks a brow and asks him _what’s so funny_.

Everything, he supposes. His predicament, perhaps. Maybe the fact that his entire life is a joke: how everything feels right when it should feel terribly wrong ; how all his plans are amiss and yet he’s here in the heart of Amsterdam trying to follow a stranger’s lead and becoming one with his chair.

Seongwoo smirks from where he sits. “Took you long enough.” And Minhyun supposes it is, some sixty odd minutes before he started to feel the emptiness of space next to and all around him. How tired his bones feel, how his tongue feels loose, how ridiculous this situation is so he starts talking about Busan, about his childhood home, about his allergy. About his father, about his mother, about his sister and how normal of a life he’s led up to now that they probably wouldn’t be scandalized but would be surprised at what Minhyun is doing in this moment. About his job, about his coworkers, about how his best friend would be pissed if he learned about this — mostly because Minki would love to see this for himself.

But never once does he talk about the one he wanted to give his forevers to.

The night wanes. At some point Seongwoo has changed his seat to occupy the one next to Minhyun, offering an ear bud. “I hear that sensations are amplified. Might change the way you viewed the song,” he explains.

Minhyun takes it.

An unfamiliar song washes through. He lets his bones become water and mind drift into white noise as he leans back. Seongwoo does the same, still holding the joint between two fingers, only a quarter left. He watched the exhale of smoke and how it rises towards the sky like a prayer but dissipates near the ceiling lights. How natural Seongwoo seems, how he fits right into this setting as if he was made for this, how he looks like a character in one of those movies about some sort of seedy love by some big name director.

Minhyun finds himself smiling before he closes his eyes to enjoy how the music rocks him into a place of serenity.

Seongwoo doesn’t question it.

 

 

✈

 

 

Stedelijk Museum is a weird juxtaposition of a sleek, suspended, modern architecture connected to the older, original building. Its significance is lost on Minhyun. A few of the artworks provide visual stimulation that makes Minhyun pause for a moment to consider the intent. A maze of dynamics that proves to be a little bit overwhelming but at least he’s not alone.

Seongwoo had offered to pay to reprint the itinerary later that night where they had spent an hour, fringing upon two, exploring the canals of Amsterdam. And Minhyun had said _what’s done is done_ with a sense of finality. There’s no use crying over spilled water. But he had purchased tickets with confidence, with someone else in mind, two months ago. Tickets for two. Tickets for something he had only developed an interest in because of the way his eyes seemed to gleam while passion danced in that gaze, the way his tone shifted with how excited he was about a particular artist or a particular work, the way the words seemed almost endless as he rambled about things Minhyun didn’t care for until after meeting him — after wanting to fall in love with what he loved. Tickets for two. Tickets for the wrong two. Tickets shared between two people who browse through art collections like they are at IKEA trying to understand the profundity of design. It works. Sort of. Knowledge from past loves slipping past lips, crafting a sense of understanding through collaboration.

When they step out the exit, Minhyun turns to Seongwoo and asks: “where to?”

The die is cast ; Minhyun has always been good at winning bets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * This chapter was easy and hard to write for reasons. Easy because I've been to some of the places. Hard because I had to swallow in my bitterness at being more of a Seongwoo and not planning ahead and going to places like the [Bloemenmarkt](http://www.travelphotographersmagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/smallflowermarket1a.jpg).
>   * You are more than welcome to call me out on my trash. My pacaponyo agenda will never end 2k18. After all, you can't expect me to write about a flower market and not bring up my [florist au](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11605854).
>   * I keep referencing Eddy Kim's [The Manual](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y4mH2KvzUQ0) because I discovered it after my trip to Amsterdam and I look back on it whenever I miss the city. [Push and Pull](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IakkPsFMFT4) is also filmed in Amsterdam if anyone wants more visuals. I'm pretty sure [Two Years Apart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VTZhCpuVDg4) is also filmed in Amsterdam but he doesn't move much so...
>   * I keep mentioning a pancakes place (literally called [Pancakes](https://pancakes.amsterdam/)) because it was delicious. Me & my friend went to the Negen Straatjes one.
>   * [The Prostitution Museum](http://www.redlightsecrets.com/) sheds light and gives voice to the workers of the Red Light District. A pity not everyone walks through those doors to learn.
>   * Leidseplein moments/recommendations are taken from [this article](https://www.holland.com/global/tourism/destinations/amsterdam/leidseplein-square.htm%20).
> 



	3. PRAGUE

Minhyun finds out that the Petrin Lookout Tower has a second name. The similarities between this and the Eiffel Tower end around the bottom half of the tower. If Minhyun was honest, the two towers are nothing alike but the the diagonal lines that give it both structure and design brings up an unpleasant memory.

Before Seongwoo can say something, before he apologizes or tries to divert them to another place, Minhyun holds his head high and charges forward.

 

 

 

“Charles Bridge,” Seongwoo points out, trying to help Minhyun identify the notorious tourist traps from this vantage point. Minhyun hovers when Seongwoo moves from easily identifiable architectural structures to more difficult ones, inching closer until he’s in the line of sight of Seongwoo’s finger.

Here, where the city sprawls out before him, Minhyun finds that old flicker of that feeling kin to hope. It’s like he’s a child again, eyes full of wonder as he anticipates the next page in the book, the next sequence of events. Does the prince slay the dragon? Does the princess wake up from her slumber? Do they live happily ever after?

Here, Minhyun allows his daydreams become indiscernible from reality.

 

 

 

Minhyun falls in love with the stucco frescoes on the ceilings and the way the bookshelves span from the floor to the ceiling. The part of him that has always found peace in bookstores finds home in the Strahov Monastery.

( “A monastery?” Minhyun had asked, glancing at the depictions in each oval and along the letters on the spine of books, none of it adhering to his image of a monastery.

“Mhmm,” Seongwoo sounds, “founded in 1143 with a Romanesque basilica and then in 1679: this hall we are currently standing in was completed. Theological Hall, the library.”

“How do you know all this,” Minhyun turns to look at Seongwoo, vaguely impressed. “Was it…”

Seongwoo shakes his head. “I have a friend I am very familiar with. You might know of him too,” Seongwoo says with a grin, “the name’s Google.” And Minhyun might have shoved Seongwoo head first into the nearest wall if not in fear of damaging the precious collection the library housed. )

So Minhyun loses track of time and Seongwoo doesn’t make an effort to rush him off to the next destination, allowing legs to stretch as they walk through the hall. It’s almost fascinating how Minhyun looks more entranced by the prospect of words instead of, say, the Versailles Gardens.

Seongwoo smiles, mostly to himself, wondering who Minhyun’s favorite authors are.

 

 

✈

 

 

Between the ripped up itinerary and the inflight conversation they held, they had come to the conclusion of _what we are in the mood for, we go for_ , which is probably why they end up in a sea of other tourists, anxiously waiting for the astronomical clock tower to strike the hour at the heart of the Old Town Square. Minhyun, at least, buzzes with anticipation as he tries to decipher the details of the clock from where they stand. The astronomical dial rotates in its beautiful colored glory. The apostles are itching to move when the minute clock strikes twelve.

Seongwoo looks on, unimpressed. This is the fifth time someone had run their elbow into him with some half assed apology. “Isn't this where that ex-EXO member filmed his first movie?” he remarks as the dial rotates, inching closer and closer to the hour. Five more minutes or so. “Didn't think you were the type to watch it.”

“You say that and yet you seem to know quite a lot about it,” Minhyun scoffs in return, tone bordering offended.

Seongwoo gives him a noncommittal shrug. “My girlfriend at the time forced me to watch it but the acting was so subpar it was almost impossible to tolerate.”

“Girlfriend at the time,” Minhyun echoes, “the curator?”

“No,” Seongwoo shakes his head, a shaky laugh spilling past his lips. “No.”

“ _Almost_ impossible,” Minhyun notes instead upon Seongwoo’s reaction. “Sounds like you finished it.”

“Nah,” Seongwoo sounds. “I got up and made myself coffee,” he flashes Minhyun a grin, “made it Irish with two shots”

“You should have at least picked up on some of the plot,” Minhyun points out, returning his attention to the clock.

But the way Seongwoo says the next line, the way his voice drops into something akin to a whisper, captures Minhyun’s attention again: “I can be very persuasive when I want to be.”

The expression that Seongwoo wears is that of smugness when the chime sounds throughout the square.

 

 

✈

 

 

“Look,” Seongwoo folds his hands on the table, staring at Minhyun from over the rim of his glasses, “you can’t pass up an opportunity to have hot chocolate the Bohemian way in the heart of old Bohemia.”

“You are the textbook example of peer pressure,” Minhyun notes before glancing back at the menu on the wall, “Besides I don’t like—”

“The taste of alcohol,” Seongwoo finishes for Minhyun. “I know but it pains me to see you miss out on an experience of a lifetime.”

“I already had experienced plenty in Amsterdam,” Minhyun points out, “I think I can pass up on this one.”

“Just try it,” Seongwoo says, “if you don’t like it I’ll drink and pay for both cups and a normal hot chocolate.” He flashes Minhyun a smile, trying to appeal to Minhyun as he leans forward, shifting all his weight onto his elbows. “Besides,” Seongwoo presses with a dismissive wave of his hand, “absinthe is the ambrosia of artists. The muse of poets.”

“Didn’t you read in the Van Gogh museum?” Minhyun counters, “there’s an implication that wormwood caused most of his ailments. Thus banned.”

“They’ve refined it since then,” Seongwoo attempts for the last time, “they wouldn’t be allowed to legally sell products meant to poison us at this day and age.”

And then a: “I promise you won’t regret it, Minhyun.”

 

 

 

It is mid afternoon. Minhyun watches as pedestrians trek their way up castle hill, pausing once in a while to window shop. The sign in front of the store makes a few of them still, debate, and choose to venture through the doors or continue along the way.

Minhyun takes another hearty sip of his drink. Seongwoo never had to order a third cup. Minhyun sits, facing away from his company, trying to avoid exchanging glances with the man who now wears an irritating _I told you so_ expression on his face.

The addition of absinthe adds that spark of warmth as it slides down his throat, a perfect complement to the chilly early autumn season. The taste of liquor buried under the smooth texture and the overpowering flavor of dark chocolate.

When Minhyun braves a look he finds that same smugness on Seongwoo’s face as Seongwoo rests his chin in the palm of his hand.

“Does it hurt to admit you were wrong?” Seongwoo asks quietly and far too gleefully.

Minhyun ignores him in the favor of another sip.

 

 

 

Minhyun raises a brow in question as Seongwoo reappears by his side with a warm snack in hand. “It’s almost dinner time,” he notes.

Seongwoo tears a bite off of the hollow log looking pastry and offers it to Minhyun. Minhyun takes it. Extremely warm to the touch so he pops it in his mouth for a taste.

“Trdelník,” Seongwoo says with a grin as he also takes a bite of it, “local pastry, pretty popularized. Nowadays there exists version with chocolate inside or ice cream but the traditional route is the best way to go.”

“Also,” he adds, tearing a large piece into it and offering it to Minhyun once more, making him an accomplice in not having dinner on time, “the point of traveling is to experience and food is the easiest way to go about it.” He rips another piece for himself and stuffs it into his mouth with an amused grin.

The nutty flavor spreads across Minhyun’s tongue as he looks away in silent agreement, opting to stare into shop windows and allow himself to experience _being in the moment_.

 

 

 

They had slipped into the St. Vitus Cathedral ten minutes before it closed. Only managing to capture one or two pictures of the stained glass window as the sun spilled through, casting the floor in red, blue, and green hues before they were ushered back outside. A pity because the gothic cathedral was impressive as one stood and gazed up — an atmosphere that could almost be encapsulated with one word: sacrosanct.

Minhyun blames Seongwoo for dilly dallying when they finally arrive at the Golden Lane. He wouldn’t have minded paying for the entrance fee. But the castle grounds are closed and so the lane becomes free of admission to stroll through. All shops already closed, leaving them to stroll what seems like a ghost town during that odd twilight hour.

The lane consists of small houses on one side, all painted in vibrant colors. The dimness of the street detracts from how picturesque this scene could have been which prompts Minhyun to turn towards Seongwoo and chide.

“An empty street,” Minhyun mutters as they walk past the colored houses of the lane named after goldsmiths that used to occupy the street, still trying to figure out why it was called Alchemists’ Alley despite the lack of alchemists ever taking residence here.

“During the blue hour!” Seongwoo counters before adding a _l'heure bleue_ to show off his language set despite his French vocabulary consisting of just common terms to use on his leisure trips. “Adds a touch of beauty,” Seongwoo points out where the entire lane is bathed in that blue shade as the sun sinks significantly below the horizon.

“There’s nothing here,” Minhyun retorts.

“Gives you an excuse to return in the future,” Seongwoo replies.

“Must be nice to be so carefree,” Minhyun notes.

“Hmmm,” Seongwoo sounds, “I don’t think that’s it.” He pauses, forcing Minhyun to turn around and pay him some attention as Seongwoo glances back at the castle before turning around to smile at Minhyun. “That notion of a missed opportunity creates regret and I suppose there would be none if you took every opportunity you got. But life doesn’t work that way. And that notion of regret puts a damper on your mood all day.”

Minhyun presses his lips together to prevent himself from agreeing or disagreeing.

Seongwoo continues: “why not put a positive spin to it and let yourself enjoy this day a little more?”

 

 

✈

 

 

“Sometimes you can catch photographers camping here, waiting for the right moment to take a photo,” Seongwoo narrates as they begin to walk across the Charles Bridge. “Most of them wait for late nights where there aren’t many people walking across it, sometimes in the early morning, which is why you see all those.”

On both sides of the bridge are vendors selling postcards or portraits to take home as souvenirs. Most often are the almost black and white images of the bridge they are walking across in a glow of orange. The vendors are centered around the foot of statues. They become a backdrop for individuals with selfie sticks. The occasional tourist stops to browse but hardly anyone purchases one.

“Thus it is only significant if you are in the frame,” Seongwoo finishes, hand outstretched.

A laugh slips from between Minhyun’s lips as he places his phone in the heart of Seongwoo’s hand.

 

 

 

Minhyun has already given up on asking where they are headed when Seongwoo drags him out the moment he finishes paying for their dinner. He’s learned to keep up and voice any complaints after they arrive. Not later at night and definitely not after showering because Seongwoo ends up dead to the world in deep slumber.

The night is dark. The moon too distant to provide proper lighting so only streetlamps are available. The amount of individuals milling about almost makes it harder to navigate except a huge majority seems to be traveling in the same direction.

Minhyun’s grateful for the hand around his wrist so that he doesn’t lose Seongwoo in the sea of people.

The night sky lights up. Not because of the moon or the streetlamps or fireworks but from the intensity of light reflected off the building. Minhyun turns to look for the source as he watches in awe: lights suspended in mid air, a tantalizing dance of colors over a courtyard of individuals.

Seongwoo seems to frown beside him. “I had thought it would be more like the Northern Lights.”

Minhyun blinks and turns towards Seongwoo. “You remember?”

“Of course I do,” Seongwoo answers without sparing Minhyun a glance. His eyes reflect the lights above, blues and reds swimming in them.

“But you ripped it up,” Minhyun recalls that day in Amsterdam, a little over a week ago. And how towards the end of the itinerary he made extra side notes on what he wanted to see the most: the natural phenomenon that this artwork seemed to mimic with lights casted upon a suspended net.

“Doesn't negate the fact I spent hours reading through that entire thing,” Seongwoo answers simply. He meets Minhyun’s gaze then. The lights above move like crests of waves, greens and oranges dipping back into it. Seongwoo’s hair becomes tainted under the lights.

“You don't seem like the type to do such a thing,” Minhyun notes, quiet, barely audible in the crowd that gasps with the changing colors and the loud flurry of shutters closing to capture this image they are witnesses to.

“Yeah,” Seongwoo says before he looks back at the dancing colors overhead, “but it was hard to look away. In between the lines there was just so much excitement — things you wanted to do, places you wanted to see, places that almost read as if they were a part of your bucket list. How you never once forgot who you were traveling with and the places he might like to go to — all that love woven into blank spaces.”

The look is distant. In this light almost forlorn.

When he meets Minhyun’s eyes again it is with a soft smile, obscuring his eyes. “It was hard to look away,” he says, “and even harder to forget.”

 

 

 

( Minhyun learns afterwards that this event runs for four days, across seven kilometers, using various historical buildings as canvases. Music streams ; lights blare for some exhibits as if hell bent on making one taste synesthesia.

  Seongwoo takes it all in with eyes of wonderment. Mouth parted in awe. Occasionally looking back at Minhyun to make sure he witnesses the same thing.

 

  Something wells up within Minhyun ; some emotion he doesn't want to find a name for. )

 

 

✈

 

 

The unattended phone vibrates against the table and usually Seongwoo would have ignored it but the chatter in the beerhall is barely a buzz in the afternoon. So Seongwoo reaches towards Minhyun’s seat, about to shut it when he notices the caller ID. A friend he assumes. He converts the time in his head, worried it might be of importance and wonders how appropriate it would be for him to answer.

The phone continues to buzz.

Seongwoo has half his mind made up when it falls silent.

 

 

 

Minhyun flicks his fingers twice in the sink basin, hoping to get most of the water off before he dries them, taking a quick check in the mirror to make sure the sauces from lunch didn’t stain the corner of his lips. Satisfied, Minhyun returns to his table.

Minhyun can imagine this restaurant being packed later on in the evening despite how it is able to house 400 individuals. Already, U Vejvodu has a decent mix of tourists and locals here for food or beer or both. Minhyun smiles, amused at how Seongwoo had suggested this as a pit stop to fill their stomachs but the amount of taps lining the bar had given him away.

Seongwoo sits by the table with an expression more serious than when Minhyun had left him ; a contrast to the easy smile he gave when they first met. Minhyun slides into his seat, about to make a comment when Seongwoo nods in the direction of Minhyun’s phone and says “someone called” before taking a sip of Plzeň beer.

Minhyun blinks in surprise before taking a look at the notification for a missed call. “You didn’t pick up?”

There’s a small shrug and an even smaller admission: “didn’t feel like it was my place to do so.”

The corners of Minhyun’s lips curl into an amused smile. Seongwoo continues to prove himself to be more than what meets the eye. “I don’t mind,” Minhyun says. They had dropped formalities two days after getting to know each other, after finding out how close their birthdays were. A mere phone call didn’t seem like much in Minhyun’s eyes.

“I wouldn’t know what to say,” Seongwoo replies still unable to meet Minhyun in the eye, still busying himself with the beer in his hand.

Minhyun didn’t mean for a chuckle to slip past his lips but it does. He gives Seongwoo a shrug in response and says: “Besides if you had picked it up it would have given him a scare and he would have left me alone for the night,” while gesturing at the phone that had started to ring again, the familiar caller ID illuminating the screen, proving his point.

Minhyun picks up the phone, amused by the sheepish smile that has started to form on Seongwoo’s lips.

“Where the fuck are you?” a voice demands from the other end of the line, so loud that Seongwoo seems to almost flinch a bit despite not having this on speaker phone. If Minhyun didn’t know any better he would call the glint in Seongwoo’s eyes mirth. “Why is your boyfriend back in Seoul?” Minki rattles on without end in sight. “His atelier is back in business, which is weird considering how he  _supposedly_ went on a six week trip and now,” the voice on the other end suddenly drops low and hushed, kin to a whisper and Minhyun can imagine Minki cupping the receiver as he says the next part: “he’s in this bar…” He trails off as if he was taking peeking over his shoulder, trying to be discrete. And then sternly: “you better not be moping somewhere alone, Hwang Minhyun.”

“I’m not,” Minhyun says with a laugh, entertained by Minki’s reaction, “I’m actually enjoying myself in Europe.”

There’s a pause. So silent that Minhyun might be convinced Minki had hung up if not for the background chatter of individuals getting drunk off their asses and celebrating by drinking more.

“Who are you and what have you done with my friend?”

The tone is so accusatory that Minhyun finds himself laughing. “It really is me, Minki.” And then for reassurance: “I’m fine.”

And Minhyun can almost see the way his best friend narrows his eyes, highly suspicious as he says: “is there someone next to you right now?”

“What if I said there was?” Minhyun teases as he gives Seongwoo a glance out of reflex.

“Well, then,” Minki says two parts interested and one part annoyed, “you owe me an explanation when you get back to Seoul.” Then a pause before he says, tone bordering serious again: “I’ll take your word for it but don't forget about the ears back home to complain to.” Something about the way he says it has Minhyun smiling, soft. Chest feels warm and not from the meal he just had. “Have fun, Minhyun.”

“I will,” he promises.

“Minki,” Minhyun says as a way of explaining, after hanging up, “my closest friend. Found my ex at the bar.” He shakes his head, chuckling mostly at himself. “I realized I never told them. Maybe because it would feel less real if I didn’t talk about it.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Minhyun says, lips still curled into a smile he doesn’t feel, knowing Seongwoo is paying attention to each word he says. “He has his own studio where he teaches art to people interested, which is why I wove so many art museums into the itinerary.”

A brief pause. Minhyun watches as more people trickle in through the doors.

“London too,” he adds in the end, “was the city he always wanted to visit so I purposefully scheduled it to…” Minhyun trails off, unable to finish.

“The Big Ben,” Seongwoo recalls, saying the words like an afterthought.

A laugh ( empty, bordering harsh ) slips past Minhyun’s lips as he nods. “I picked that week and day in particular. Third year anniversary. If he didn’t propose before then, hopefully he would have done it there.”

“And what if he didn’t?” Seongwoo ventures.

“I didn’t plan that far ahead,” Minhyun confesses.

Another moment where silent blankets them.

“Minhyun,” Seongwoo says, voice soft, drawing Minhyun’s eyes to his own, “I’d love to take you to London, show you around, it feels like a second hometown. I spent 8 years of my life there but—” This is where his voice drops off, lowers in register, almost cautious as he says: “I don’t want you to be plagued by reminders like last time.”

 _Van Gogh museum_ , Minhyun infers, _Stedelijk Museum_.

“There’s still time to change plans,” Seongwoo says before the grin Minhyun has gotten used to returns back to Seongwoo’s face. “We could go to Sweden instead. I’ve always wanted to rent a camper and drive. We could go to two countries at once.”

“Think about it.”

 

 

 

✈

 

 

Mala Strana has always been the most impressionable part of Prague for Seongwoo. The way the burgher houses cluster around the foothills of the Prague Castle, on the opposite side of the Old Town and separated by the Vltava River, like a little world of its own. The quaint side streets that can have one spend an afternoon just exploring through the Lesser Quarter of Prague, finding new trails to the St. Nicholas Church who’s green colored dome is a contrast to the red roofs of the houses. So picturesque it could have been a perfect magazine cover. Seongwoo tells Minhyun that when he hands Minhyun’s phone back, pleased with the photo he had just captured.

They find the Lesser Town Square in all its Baroque glory where the small cobbled side streets leads one to small shops, churches, or pubs and restaurants with surprising and unexpected views of the river. Seongwoo can almost imagine how quiet it might be at night, almost deserted, almost as if they were transported back in time back to Bohemia.

Seongwoo almost makes a note to himself to find a hotel to stay in this side of town before he remembers the ultimatum and how many years it might be before he has a chance to do this again. So they double back and slip into the St. Nicholas Church where both of them fall silent again.

The way the light filters through the windows of the rotunda and highlights the frescoes painted on the ceilings, the way light spills down upon the statue seemingly gilded with gold at the base, giving color to the marble columns, where it reminds someone who had carelessly stepped into this space that this is sacred ; this is holy. To cower or to stand in awe are just two sides of the same coin. Seongwoo likes to think that the profundity isn’t lost on him.

 

 

 

An hour slips into two, snowballs into three — all hinging upon a whim.

It looks a little like this:

The large K signifies their arrival at the Kafka Museum but Minhyun seems to have no intent on stopping.

“Have you read any works by Franz Kafka?” Seongwoo decides to say in a conversational tone.

“Hmm?” Minhyun sounds as his gaze leaves the streets and turns to Seongwoo, where that look of absorption is still entrenched in those eyes so it almost looks like he’s reading into Seongwoo’s soul. And just as quickly that expression disappears as the name dredges up a memory. “The story where the salaryman gets turned into a cockroach?”

Seongwoo finds himself laughing. “Yeah that one.”

“What about it?” Minhyun says, no intention, lacking the realization of where they stand so Seongwoo just shrugs.

“Nothing,” he says, “just that he was born in Prague, which is why I brought it up.”

Minhyun buys it. They keep walking. His eyes almost seem to sparkle as he takes in the structures flanking both sides of the street. The grey turtleneck bringing out the brown highlights in his hair, the black coat softening shoulders, and at this angle…

A line Seongwoo once read sounds in his head:

  

> _In a way, you are poetry material ; You are full of cloudy subtleties I am willing to spend a lifetime figuring out. Words burst in your essence and you carry their dust in the pores of your ethereal individuality._

 

 

 

✈

 

 

 

It starts with a harebrained idea that sounds a lot more solid with Seongwoo’s encouragement. He offers to split the check and says _live life to the fullest_ and _leave no regrets behind_. Hence both of them are dressed in formal attire. Minhyun is majorly impressed that Seongwoo had packed anything that fell into the category to begin with.

( _Now you are just judging the book by its cover_ , Seongwoo chides, only for Minhyun’s ears to hear. And Minhyun hopes the tip of his ear isn’t red from the sheer proximity. )

The Restaurant Alcron is as impressive as its ratings prove to be, located within the restored Art Deco Radisson Blu Alcron hotel, where a 1930’s Jazz Age mural clues Minhyun in as to where they are. It’s a small space, only able to seat 24 individuals with a staff so polite Minhyun just trails behind Seongwoo as he starts speaking in that British accent he had managed to pick up over the years. The restaurant has been a proud Michelin star holder since 2012 and shows it in the purple and gold chairs that seem like mini-thrones as jazz music spills through the speakers.

Half of the menu items require a quick google search or an extensive introduction by their waiter and Minhyun finds himself grateful for his traveling companion.

The soft clink of wine glasses, a quiet chatter of conversation, and the sounds of utensils against plates just adds to the experience and Minhyun finds that the 2000 bordering 3000 Czech koruna spent on this meal was worth it.

Seongwoo crosses his leg from where he sits from across Minhyun, swirling the wine in his glass, quiet as his feet taps to the tune played overhead.

“What do you think?” Seongwoo starts, his gaze as heavy as the color of the wine in his glass.

“About?”

There’s a wave of a hand. “This.” And Minhyun assumes it is the atmosphere, the music, the food in front of them before Seongwoo elaborates with a: “what if I make a coffee house that hosts events at night. Every week. Every month. Slam poetry. Jazz nights. Indie performances.”

“Like a live music café?” Minhyun asks, thinking of the venues Dongho had dragged him to.

Seongwoo nods. “Something like that,” he says instead. “I still want to focus on the coffee aspect. But why limit it?”

He leans forward, head tilting as he seeks for a second opinion, “I could combine the things I love together. Music and coffee. A place to harbor souls. A temple dedicated to art.”

And Minhyun can see it. Perhaps not the extent of what he had experienced at the Milky Way or the venues Dongho had tried to introduce him to.

“There’s still time,” Minhyun says carefully, “for you to refine your plans and find what you truly want to introduce people to, how to present it.”

Seongwoo leans back in his chair, expression impassive as he asks: “when I do open my coffee shop for business, will you visit?”

Minhyun decides not to read into it and just allows his lips to curl as he retorts: “depends on if you invite me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Almost all of the Prague stuff comes from [this site](https://livingprague.com/prague-tourism/prague-things-to-do/%20).
>   * View from the [Petrin Tower](https://c1.staticflickr.com/4/3408/4572861891_680f42e21c_b.jpg). + break taking sights of the insides of [Strahov](https://maunderandrove.files.wordpress.com/2015/10/strahov-library-theological-hall.jpg) [Monastery](https://c1.staticflickr.com/3/2107/1898771734_5f325422bc_z.jpg?zz=1). I must return to Prague at once.
>   * The "curator" is purposefully left without a gender identity because 1) it doesn't matter and 2) up to the reader's digression.
>   * This is the [astronomical clock](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/37/Astronomical_Clock_%288341899828%29.jpg), the view of [Prague castle hill](https://fthmb.tqn.com/RBLnl2GQT71fdfdLjAZgGt-aUVs=/960x0/filters:no_upscale\(\)/Prague_Castle_By_Night-56b787c65f9b5829f839d952.jpg), the [Golden Lane](https://photographytraveltours.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/Golden_Lane_Blue_Hour_Prague-copy.jpg), and [St. Vitus Cathedral](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/dd/Saint_Vitus_Cathedral_inside.jpg).
>   * I couldn't find any information on the hot chocolate place I went to while I traveled up the Prague Castle Hill. On the other hand, [trdelník](https://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/0c/d7/c3/e9/trdelnik-cuit-devant.jpg) pictures are very easy to find. There are more artistic ones with backgrounds involved but I wanted one with the food + creation process so...
>   * Information for the Signal Lights Festival comes from [here](https://livingprague.com/festivals-holidays/signal-light-festival/). And a lovely [video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K-Kh-4I9lng) to fully appreciate the beauty.
>   * The [quote](https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/926299-in-a-way-you-are-poetry-material-you-are-full) comes from one of Franz Kafka's letters to Milena. I have to add that Seongwoo didn't bother mostly because Minhyun is paying for anything and a museum admission ticket for something he doesn't care for (something Seongwoo has already seen) isn't worth it.
>   * Information on The Alcron Restaurant comes from [here](http://travelsquire.com/the-alcron-restaurant-prague/). Bad idea to do research while it nears lunch time.
>   * So I just like to imagine this is what [Seongwoo](http://cfile26.uf.tistory.com/original/9934CE435A60CE372703E9) looks like when they go for the fancy dinner.
> 



	4. COPENHAGEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in this chapter i decided to play around again. the sections don't represent days or anything. merely a difference between a scene and a scene and a scene.

****The way the setting sun plays with the spire and the golden globe at the top of Vor Frelsers Kirke bathes Minhyun’s vision with the same color. An egg yolk on the horizon. The city below sharpened in some aspects, blurred in others from the intensity of the light in the distance. The stairs are narrow and grow even narrower the higher one climbs. The party closest to the tower attempts to flatten themselves against the wall. The party near the banister grips the golden painted railings for support.

400 steps according to the information he had gleaned at the base of the church. The last five are ridiculous. The last three feels more like a decoration, unable to bear the weight of any human, just a small ledge at the end of the spiral staircase. Minhyun holds onto the railing as he tries to maintain his balance when he reaches the height of the spire. The city spreads out endlessly below. In the distance he can identify a river snaking through the heart of Copenhagen, the buildings that are rectangular in shape as they house a plethora of residents, courtyards in the center, the red colored buildings gather near the historical part of town.

Minhyun knows this isn’t that high up compared to Namsan Tower, for instance, but there’s that urge that curls through him.

“Do you know that French term,” Minhyun begins as he turns around to face a Seongwoo just a few steps below him, “where there’s an urge to take a step, jump, and fall into oblivion?”

 _L’appel du Vide_ , Seongwoo mutters under his breath without Minhyun needing to further prompt him, just like Minhyun had expected. A small smile begins to grow upon his face.

“Didn't think a break up would make you suicidal,” Seongwoo teases with a wicked grin that elicits a laugh from the depths of Minhyun’s heart.

It doesn’t matter if there are others trying to climb up the narrow space of the staircase to reach the top. Seongwoo takes a dramatic bow, bending his back as he holds out his hand. “Don’t hurt yourself, Minhyun,” Seongwoo says after he straightens his back, hand still held out, “come down.”

Minhyun takes a glance at the city: how the sun’s existence highlights the hidden gems and draws the eye to this part of the city or that. How each glimpse, each step, as one traverses the spire can present a surprise — something you’ve never seen before. He looks at the fingers of that outstretched hand. How the owner of it had chosen to slick back his hair so that the flight here wouldn’t ruin the meticulous outfit he has put together for today. How the sun has fallen to a point where the sky now has streaks of pink and the light falls across Seongwoo in a way that casts shadows. His jaws look a bit sharper, softened by the look he carries in his eyes. The way the first button of his shirt is left unbuttoned and Minhyun can almost see his collarbone. The way his coat is draped over the other arm, the one that is not held out. The way Minhyun can still see where the three moles lie even from this angle, even from this intensity of light. And the way his eyelashes seem almost translucent.

So Minhyun lets go of his hold on the banister and puts his hand in the heart of Seongwoo’s.

He thinks it is a trick of light when Seongwoo’s eyes appear to be clear, smile growing a little wider, mirroring Minhyun’s.

 

 

✈

 

 

Minhyun had just finished the fifth of his seven course dinner meal, tasting revisited Danish signature dishes against a backdrop of a muted palette of greys and greens. Again, Seongwoo had managed to surprise Minhyun with a restaurant booked on a whim. Minhyun takes a sip of the organic apple juice and wonders if he should make a suggestion to come back tomorrow for lunch: try the famous smørrebrød of Øl & Brød, split the ten choices of open faced sandwiches between the two of them. After all, Seongwoo shouldn’t be able to say no to consuming beer earlier in the day.

Seongwoo nurses his akvavit, the light amber color of the liquor reflected in his eyes. He wears a small smile on his face as if in contemplation, as if he’s found something to say.

“Have you ever heard the Danish term _hygge_?” Seongwoo begins and Minhyun shakes his head. “It is another untranslatable word,” Seongwoo continues, “a feeling. A sensation. Not as simple as _coziness_ as people try to insist. It comes from a Norwegian word that means ‘well-being’. It’s an experience. It is enjoying the good things in life with good people. And because that varies from person to person: you get to decide what it means.”

A warm amber glow from the sole white candlestick on the table flickers, casting shadows, allowing light to refract from the glass bottle that holds the small cluster of flowers. The mostly finished plates of food lie there untouched. Green sprigs intended for decoration scooted to the far corners of the plate as utensils are placed upon it based on convenience.

Minhyun wonders what the term means to Seongwoo. What memory will he recall if Minhyun asks him in the future?

“I was wondering if I should make this the theme of the coffee shop: hygge,” Seongwoo finishes with a satisfied smile.

Their next course arrives at a timely manner. The conversation is replaced by the sound of metal utensils against porcelain plates.

 

 

 

“Memories are connected to scent. It is the only one of our five senses that doesn’t follow the same process in becoming a long term memory because of how powerful it is. If someone steps into my coffee house and is taken abroad, back to a distant place they once visited and become infused with the desire to return…  If someone can taste a cup of my coffee and be struck with the notion to go where they have never gone before… If someone can walk into my coffee shop and stay for an afternoon, thinking they have left Seoul for that small sliver of time… I think I will have accomplished what I set out to do.

“After all, what I want to create is based on a mere notion tied to a philosophy ; tied to a way of life, just like how hygge is,” Seongwoo says, looking out the window where someone on a bike passes by. A few pedestrians, tourists Minhyun assume, pass by and give the fully occupied restaurant a few curious glances.

“Maybe have someone understand the importance of taking time to unwind, to slow down their pace of life — to understand the importance of simplicity,” Seongwoo concludes, eyes returning to hold Minhyun’s gaze like it had during the beginning of his spiel, “then it’ll be worth it.”

Minhyun takes a sip of water, cleansing his palette.

Seongwoo’s lips pull into a frown. “If you have something to say, say it.”

Minhyun places the glass back, watching how the water pattern dances against the dark color of the table. Hesitates on his words before realizing there’s no need.

“I’d love to see how you execute it,” Minhyun says with a smile, “and if, even for a split second, it brings me back to Denmark, I’ll try a cup of your coffee.”

Seongwoo laughs, heartily. “That’s so stingy,” he complains, “you should have a beer with me instead.”

Minhyun makes a face. “You’re pushing it, Ong Seongwoo,” he warns without meaning it.

 

 

✈

 

 

Minhyun finds out, through some casual research, the Tivoli Gardens were once named “Tivoli & Vauxhall” — after the Jardin de Tivoli in Paris and the Vauxhall Gardens in London. Both of them no longer exist, not in the way they once were. The Jardin de Tivoli was once an amusement park and Vauxhall Gardens was formerly a pleasure garden. All that is left is a reminder, old photographs, and Wikipedia pages to note what it might have been like during its heyday.

The Tivoli Gardens at the heart of Copenhagen, on the other hand, is constantly evolving without losing its traditions or charms and Minhyun can see why Walt Disney was inspired to create Disneyland.

The ticketing gates to enter the amusement park is decked out with Halloween decorations ( already ). A large pumpkin is suspended with its sinister laugh facing towards the streets. Broomsticks are plastered all over the entrance gate. A few automated puppets to entertain visitors as they wait in line. Beyond the gate is a row of trees, carefully decorated with lanterns, and Minhyun can almost imagine how it will look like when the sun sets.

Already, one can choose their path as soon as they pass the front entrance. To the left are the oriental grounds where the Chinese styled Pantomimeteatret stands with its beautiful peacock tail illustration that acts as the curtains of the stage. To the right are a various collection of small shops with fake spiders and the webs dangling off roofs. Straight ahead is the Moorish Palace: the Nimb Hotel and Restaurant where the field before it has turned into a pumpkin patch with pumpkins of impressive sizes. The bulb at the top of the palace has been encapsulated by a pumpkin with an expression matching the one at the front gate. In the distance he can see a red loop that belongs to The Demon. Somewhere in this park is one of the world’s oldest wooden roller coasters, the Rutschebanen, built all the way back in 1914. It’s amazing how it is still in operation. And when Minhyun mentions it, he gets dragged to wait in line, entertained by the staff that mills about with heavy zombie makeup giving young children a scare.

The air is festive, Minhyun notes. Seongwoo just scrunches his nose.

“You’re here during the wrong season,” Seongwoo says with a small shake of his head.

“I’m always here during the wrong season, in your eyes,” Minhyun points out and that elicits a laugh from Seongwoo.

“I mean it,” Seongwoo insists, pointing at spaces, “there’s a Christmas market during winter. There’s also one in Strøget but having one in Tivoli where it already feels magical just adds to the atmosphere.”

He gestures at another space. “And they set up an automated Santa’s workshop where the devil is in the details, including Santa and a bunch of little elves in their own store. There was one that was a shoe maker and you could see the other shoes he already had completed or the ones to be worked on.” Eyes distant in recollection but tone excited as if he was reliving through a particularly fond memory. It infects Minhyun.

“And have you ever tried Æbleskiver?” Seongwoo asks, turning around, as if realizing in his excitement he had quickened his walking pace.

Minhyun shakes his head.

“Ahhh well, come back again in two months. The shape of it is like takoyaki,” Seongwoo says as he holds his hand up, forming a circle with his thumb and index finger, looking at Minhyun through the small window, “but it is a pancake puff. Mostly pancake tasting with a hint of apple. You have to have it with powdered sugar and jam. It’s the kind of must have food to remind yourself _‘tis the season_.”

Minhyun matches his pace with Seongwoo as they stroll through the park. Rows of shops on either side. They stop at Vaffelbageriet for ice cream scooped into freshly made cones. Most words get lost in trying to battle the ice cream that melts at an escalating pace in hands holding a warm cone. It takes a while before either of them can make a conversation.

“Did your family used to celebrate Christmas?” Minhyun asks, mostly out of curiosity, after cleansing his fingers with napkins.

“Not really,” Seongwoo replies, a flash of pink as he swipes his lips with his tongue in order to get rid of the stickiness that has gotten on the corners, “but after living in a place where they do, it’s almost impossible to not adopt it. The streets around that time are all decorated. There’s this general air of excitement. Christmas markets pop up all over. It becomes rude to not exchange gifts with your friends and you start doing that as a sign of gratitude. A _thank you for still tolerating me_ kind of gesture or an  _I love you bro_ depending on what you get them.” Seongwoo shrugs. “Maybe I got suckered into it but it’s become my favorite time of year.”

Seongwoo illustrates with words about the traditions he’s started and adopted, about the ones he will probably keep, about the ones he will introduce to his friends back home as the sun starts to sink past the horizon. The lights strung on trees and the lamps at the side of the road lights up. Music blares in the distance. Not just the spooky music that has been drifting from the speakers but someone singing through a microphone as Seongwoo explains the Friday night concerts and how a few friends of his who studied abroad in Copenhagen would purchase seasonal passes and use this place as their local coffee house: do homework, unwind, relax, enjoy an evening.

The gardens glow as humans mill about. Most gathering towards the concert as Seongwoo and Minhyun drift further away. The colored lights lead them through the dark. It’s hard not to find the park different or even prettier at night. The restaurants with all their lights on, soft glows tantalizing, trying to attract customers like a moth to a flame. The shops and all their window displays trying to appeal to curiosity. The lanterns that remind Minhyun of festivals he used to attend with his parents when he was much younger. The larger rides standing proudly like beacons in the night sky.

They wind up in front of a store where Seongwoo drags Minhyun in far too enthusiastically. 

But all of Minhyun’s complaints dissolve when he watches the machine make what looks like large fluffy masses of marshmallow and dips them into chocolate.

“Flødeboller,” Seongwoo explains, “people call them cream puffs but it is a lot more marshmallow like than cream.”

Seongwoo purchases two: a strawberry one and an original. Minhyun just stares at him in distrust.

Seongwoo throws his head back and laughs at the sight of Minhyun’s face, the nerve of him. It’s a blessing the fragile looking flødeboller didn’t take any damage. “I’m sorry about the black licorice,” Seongwoo apologizes as Minhyun makes a face at the reminder of the abhorrence to candy with its strong and salty flavor. He should have suspected something when Seongwoo kindly offered to feed him and didn’t take a bite of it when they had stopped by the candy shop. “But I promise, this time it isn’t a prank. It’s really good.”

Minhyun just narrows his eyes.

Another chuckle escapes. “Look, I’ll prove it,” Seongwoo says as he takes a bite of the original one, teeth breaking through the chocolate coating and showing Minhyun the white filling within.

Only then does Minhyun brave a try, leaning forward as Seongwoo holds it out for him. It’s good. Soft. A little fluffy. He prefers the strawberry over the original but both are pretty tasty. He’s half tempted to purchase an entire box or five to send back home to his friends and family but doubt they will be able to make the trip. So he tucks it away as a memory to be recalled upon at a later date. Or maybe he could try to recreate it. The possibilities are endless.

 

 

✈

 

 

The Amalienborg Palace grounds are the same as Seongwoo remembers them to be. A large, spacious courtyard at the center of the palace that spans the entire circumference of the square, almost as if it was a little world of its own. And it is in some ways. The guard change isn’t as impressive as the one in Buckingham Palace but it is still a must see whenever someone visits Copenhagen for the first time so Seongwoo finds himself squeezed into a crowd, waiting for the scheduled change at noon.

It is still exciting. The crowd’s anticipation and the way tourists hold up their phones to record the changing of the guards over the heads of others makes it more interesting than Seongwoo had thought it would be ( for his second time, at least ).

And then there is Minhyun who is impressed by all this, who makes commentaries, and makes this almost a new experience for Seongwoo.

The same thing happens when they take a fourteen minute walk to the Little Mermaid. The first time, Seongwoo had expected something a little bit larger, something bold perhaps, but there she was: sitting at the edge of her rock, looking forlorn as she gazed out into the sea, as if waiting for a lost love that will not return, easily obscured from view by the number of tourists flocking her. And for the second time in his life, Seongwoo finds himself lining up like the other tourists in order to get a perfect photograph of the Little Mermaid.

In their excitement at finally nearing the famous landmark, Seongwoo realizes Minhyun hadn’t handed over his phone. Seongwoo waves a hand as Minhyun begins to take a step back towards him, afraid they’ll have to wait their turn all over again and says: “I’ll just send it to you.”

“Creep,” Minhyun says with a laugh, “you better delete it afterwards.”

“Nah,” Seongwoo sounds as he finds the perfect angle for the photograph, “I’m going to save it and use it for catfishing.”

He flashes Minhyun a smirk as Minhyun warns: “don’t you dare.” There’s no threat to his tone.

Seongwoo just cheekily replies with a: “say cheese~”

He's about to take the picture when he realizes how Minhyun’s expression matches the bronze statue’s.

The phone records the image before Seongwoo can do anything about it. His thumb is still over the little circle.

He follows Minhyun’s gaze and it falls upon a man who has gotten down on one knee, heart in the palm of his hands via a ring that Seongwoo can’t see from this angle, and his fiancé who looks both surprised and pleased by the gesture. There is an emotional embrace as the spectators erupt into a round of applause and hollers and well wishes.

Seongwoo barely hears any of it.

Something wells up in Seongwoo and churns through him. Less like someone had turned on the faucet and more like someone had just broken it entirely. There’s nothing to staunch the flow. It spills over with a “did you really love him?”

Seongwoo watches how the question registers in Minhyun as he returns his attention to Seongwoo, the way it shifts his features, the way he warns but with the willingness to follow through and deliver on his threat this time. “If I were you, I would choose my next words very carefully.”

Seongwoo is past the point of caring. “You planned your entire life out, too scared to veer off course, up to and including the age you wanted to get engaged by,” his face contorts into a sneer as he continues: “What says this isn't just you pushing through for the sake of following your plan?”

“Do you think I would be the type of person to want to be engaged to someone I didn't love?” Minhyun snaps, ignoring all the gazes they are starting to attract.

Seongwoo laughs once. Short. Derisive. “I've only known you for less than four weeks,” he points out, “How would I know what type of person you are?”

Minhyun turns on his heels and leaves without looking back.

Seongwoo’s knuckles have turned white from how firmly he’s gripping the phone in his hands.

Really, what an idiot. Not for seeking for someone who isn’t there but for getting worked up over something that you have no right to.

Seongwoo runs a hand through his hair.

How frightening it is that jealousy can so easily make monsters out of men.

 

 

✈

 

 

Minhyun closes the wrong tab, presses the wrong address twice from the drop down list, and grows increasingly frustrated as he tries to match the street names to the ones in tiny print on Google maps. Apparently it is a twenty minute walk to Nyhavn. Amalienborg Palace sits in the middle between the two locations. The inefficient planning just adds to Minhyun’s ire.

Minhyun picks up his pace.

 

 

 

Nyhavn is as beautiful as the tourists books detail it to be. Smaller ships are docked along the canal. The colored houses are on both sides of the banks. Most of them turned into restaurants to cater to the tourists who had chosen to end their night here. According to the information on the official website for Copenhagen tourism, Hans Christian Andersen resided here once upon a time. The sky is a beautiful blend of orange and pinks and the last vestiges of sunlight is reflected against the calm waters of the canal.

Minhyun’s mood is too sour to enjoy any of it.

He joins the tourists either way, lining up to take a picture of the most scenic block, wondering how he is going to capture it. He holds up his phone and takes a quick picture of the waterfront before he looks around for someone kind enough to be bothered. The videos his concerned parents had linked him when he conveyed his plans of vacationing abroad play in his head. Besides, most people nowadays are self prepared with selfie sticks so Minhyun resorts himself to the old fashioned way of taking his own picture, plastering a smile he doesn’t feel on his face as he stares into the front camera.

 

 

 

Minhyun finds a place to sit. He’s surrounded by strangers who carry on their own conversations, excited by the facades before them, taking a flurry of pictures. He sits, facing the water, hoping they would instill a sense of calmness in him.

_What says this isn't just you pushing through for the sake of following your plan?_

He fails to find tranquility, jaw tight as his fingernails digs into flesh.

What does a stranger even understand? Especially one that tagged along for a free ride. They were once beautiful. The first few days in Paris were a dream come true and Minhyun had entertained the notion of returning for the future honeymoon. That is until he got worked up like he had in Amsterdam and was slapped in the face with a _I can’t do this anymore_.

( And honestly, back then in front of the Van Gogh Museum, Minhyun had half expected Seongwoo to throw it in his face with a _maybe this is why he left you_. )

When Minhyun had first suggested this trip, he was met with an indifferent _we’ll see_ but had brushed it off thinking it was just a bad day. Work kept him busy and the noncommittal _maybe_ had allowed him to forge ahead and create an entire itinerary. It had taken a countless amount of reminders before he had set up an announcement for his students, warning them the dates the atelier will be closed for business.

Maybe Minhyun feels this way because there is an undercurrent of truth to what Seongwoo had said back in front of the heroine who perished in a crest of foam before Disney decided to enforce their brand of happy endings and romance upon it. He had overlooked the instances, the reluctance, the ways he had taken their ‘happy ending’ for granted. Failed to see the annoyance, the number of arguments that went unresolved, swept them all under the rug because he thought they would be okay. Never sat down to work it out. To communicate. Just allowed them to fall apart, drift away from each other despite the abundance of love. And Minhyun hates how his priorities may have shifted over time.

( _Does it hurt to admit you were wrong?_   Rings in Minhyun’s head. Really, his entire existence sticks out like a sore thumb. )

What hurts most, what causes his eyes to prick, is the fact that Minhyun may have caused the one he loved to feel trapped. Some line from some poem the one he loved had shown him, once upon a time, sounds in his head.

Minhyun exhales shakily, allowing his head to rest atop his hands.

Maybe he should have gone home after that night at the Eiffel Tower. Save himself all the trouble. Save the cost he would have spent and put it towards buying his first home.

But his phone is full of images that prove otherwise — that the ability to enjoy life isn’t diminished due to the absence of someone.

Minhyun looks up. The restaurant signs have been lit. Some of the lights in the houses have been turned on. The water reflects all this, distorts the proportions, and retains all the colors including the shades of blue overhead.

 _L'heure bleue_ , his mind recalls unhelpfully.

From the corner of his eye he spots a familiar figure and hears a pair of footsteps, hesitant as they approach.

He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t do anything. Minhyun just stares out at the patrons of restaurants that are enjoying their evening with food outdoors.

“How did you find me?” he asks when the sounds have diminished.

“I went to all the places you had written in your itinerary,” Seongwoo says sounding small, uncertain. Minhyun still hasn’t forgiven him.

“Even Louisiana Museum of Modern Art in Humlebæk and ARoS Aarhus Kunstmuseum?” Minhyun asks. “I’m impressed,” he remarks, flatly.

“No…” There’s a short pause. “Just the ones in Copenhagen.”

“Who says I wouldn’t have booked it all the way there?” Minhyun retorts as he finally turns around.

“You’re right,” Seongwoo nods, “you could have. I don’t know you, after all.”

Minhyun waits, silent. Merely evaluating his travel companion.

“Sorry for being an asshole,” Seongwoo says, running a hand through his hair in frustration. If Minhyun had the capacity to care he would note how Seongwoo currently has no qualms in ruining half an hour of work. “I was out of line,” Seongwoo apologizes, “I…”

Fingers furl and unfurl.

Shoulders slump. “Don’t know what came over me.” Which is then followed by a pair of steady eyes that hold Minhyun’s gaze as he says: “I understand if you don’t want to travel with me anymore.”

Minhyun thinks of how inconvenient it is at times and how he isn’t so heartless to toss someone out and force them to find their own room and board. How the realization probably would have never come if someone hadn’t thrown it into his face. How he probably would have spent 99% of this trip moping instead of less than half the time.

But forgiveness doesn’t come easy, so Minhyun says: “well, at least you are aware.” Watching how it registers and the wince that follows.

Minhyun gets up and dusts off his pants for extra measure before weaving a kinder expression onto his face. “You’re on probation until this week is over, Seongwoo,” Minhyun says as he holds out his hand, “assuming you still want to tag along.”

Seongwoo’s mood seems to lift a bit, along with his shoulders. There’s something almost tender about it as Seongwoo reaches out to take the offered hand, giving it a firm shake.

 

 

✈

 

 

It had drizzled earlier this morning, leaving behind grey skies as a threat for more rain. The cobblestone streets are wet, remnants of the shower stuck in the crevices, bikes causing inconvenient splashes against ankles of unfortunate pedestrians. Apparently this is the norm in terms of weather and the amount of sunshine.

The day feels longer.

The backstreets of the University of Copenhagen are quiet at this hour. Figureheads line one side of the building, green and stern, a contrast to the browns. Someone exits from their housing quarters and Minhyun catches a glimpse of the courtyard beyond the door and the number of bikes stored where the rain hopefully doesn’t reach. They ride off into the distance.

There are a few restaurants sprinkled throughout. The hub both serves as a casual dining service for university students as well as tourists that have strayed too far from the main streets. A small grocery store around the corner where a bag loaded with ingredients for a meal hangs low in a hand. Minhyun can almost imagine studying here, figuring this would what his daily life would look like.

The Rundetårn comes into view a few moments later as the street they had been traveling on empties out into a more populated one. The name of the structure is a perfect description for the building that had once served as an astronomical observatory, attached to the university’s chapel and the academic library. The tower is round. The only thing that makes it stand out is the numerous amount of windows neatly lined from top to bottom. Apparently it has no stairs, just a spiral ramp. But the entrance fee and the number of tourists lining up to see it causes Minhyun to be less inclined to explore it for himself.

He takes another glance at the sky, wondering if the weather had tarnished his mood.

The Studenterhuset exists a few steps away. A bunch of volunteers and employees sport black t-shirts stringing up lights for some event advertised on the posters plastered against the glass windows.

They reach Strøget not long after. Restaurants and shops line the street wide enough for carriages or cars to drive through but remain pedestrian friendly. The occasional vendor takes up a corner or the center of the street. Minhyun has lost count of the amount of hot dog stands they’ve passed. A famous cake shop has a line wrapping around the corner. Already there are individuals taking up the outdoor seats of local cafes and restaurants, enjoying their afternoon with a cup of coffee or a beer.

Minhyun half expects Seongwoo to pipe up about where the Christmas Market would be located or give some sort of commentary. Instead Seongwoo remains quiet as he had been this entire day. A mere escort.

It’s unsettling.

Minhyun starts counting the luxury brands he knows as they pass by and the ones that are Danish. Royal Copenhagen with its porcelain displayed by the window, Illums Bolighus with its sneak peak at what a living room housing its design would look like, Georg Jensen Silver boasting its collection and ties to the royal Danish court, and Mads Nørgaard Copenhagen illustrating his philosophy through articles of clothing — just to name a few. And, of course, the LEGO store with its eye catching life sized figures.

Minhyun gets fed up when they begin to near Kongens Nytorv. The square itself is beautiful; the silent treatment, not so much.

He supposes it has something to do with the events of yesterday. Which doesn’t make sense because if anyone is entitled to be moody it is Minhyun. Forgiveness never comes easily but the last three weeks have been better than he had imagined. There are certain moments he can find himself having _fun_.

Minhyun finds himself at a crossroads. He could continue down the same path or pick an entirely different one.

He chooses the latter.

Minhyun shatters the silence with his own hands, starting with an observation: “you can be surprisingly… quiet.”

From the corner of his eye he catches a glimpse of a smile, one he thinks he misses. The sense of unease gets diluted.

“Is that permission for me to speak now?”

And Minhyun almost regrets allowing Seongwoo to make conversation again. Almost.

Despite the smirk Seongwoo wears on his lips, the one Minhyun had gotten used to over the past few weeks, the gaze is one of absolution.

Minhyun finds himself smiling in return.

 

 

✈

 

 

“Let’s go get some air” is all Minhyun says before he walks in the direction of Copenhagen Central Station, forcing Seongwoo to catch up or be left behind. Seongwoo gets swept up in Minhyun’s pace. A ticket purchased before he has any say in it. The train arrives before any questions can be formulated. They switch trains once. Three minute walk to the bus stop. Get off eight stops later. Another nine minute walk. And during the three hour thirty minute travel to the middle of nowhere, not once does Minhyun speak. Just an elusive smile.

Seongwoo can’t help but wonder if this is revenge for yesterday. In his defense, he had spent most of yesterday fretting over what was appropriate to say, still apologetic about the day before.

 

 

 

Minhyun is facing a semi circle of chairs, showcasing the work of various designers, expression almost contemplative. He had been like this since they stepped through the doors of the Trapholt Museum. Making Seongwoo wonder if Minhyun was wishing he was here with someone else.

A few other individuals step into the space they occupy, give the chairs a once over, and move onto the next exhibit.

“You were right,” Minhyun says after a while, as Seongwoo had started to study the images on the wall.

The statement itself is so vague and rare in occurrence it causes Seongwoo’s attention to return to Minhyun immediately. “About…?” he asks, tentative.

“Intae,” Minhyun says. The name exhaled like a breath he’s been holding. Eyes distant, looking past the furniture. Perhaps to the chairs displayed in the nooks along the wall.

“Somewhere along the line my priorities had shifted.”

Minhyun turns around and faces him then with a smile Seongwoo knows Minhyun does not feel. Seongwoo is in no place to make a comment upon it, so he doesn’t.

Seongwoo forces his tone to remain light. “You dragged me all the way here to tell me that?” Allowing his lips to curl in a semblance of a smile.

Minhyun chuckles at that. “No,” Minhyun says with a shake of his head, “I wanted to see Arne Jacobsen’s kubeflex.”

“You could have told me,” Seongwoo grumbles, still peeved by the quiet three hour trip all the way out here, “I’m all about spontaneous trips but it would be nice to know.”

Minhyun just grins, wicked. “Now you know how I feel.”

Seongwoo sputters at that.

 

 

 

The rest of the stroll through the museum is more reminiscent of their time at the Stedelijk Museum. The occasional commentary weaves into the space between them — returning them, more or less, to what they had been like before Seongwoo had uttered words that ruined everything.

 

 

 

Kubeflex, as Seongwoo learns, is a prototype summerhouse designed by Jacobsen and revived by the Trapholt museum. It consists of prefabricated cubes, meant to be purchased to fit the needs of the family looking to buy it, mostly targeted towards small families or individuals looking for a summer house. But beyond its practicality is that attentive eye that has made Arne Jacobsen famous as an architect.

Originally this was meant to overlook a river. All the windows are placed with a goal in mind. The summer house concept of leisure and enjoying the scenery one is submerged in echoes strongly throughout the kubeflex.

There are two windows, side by side, taking up the space of the two walls they are supposed to be a part of. One placed where the occupant of the kitchen can look out of. The other is right beside the dining room table. In one room, a third of the wall is glass that spans vertically, allowing for adequate sunlight to shine in as one spends a leisure afternoon on one of the famous chairs with a book in hand. Another room houses a horizontal window: the perfect height for someone sitting down, a quick break and distraction from the task at hand.

“Beautiful isn’t it?” Minhyun sounds from the seat besides his, staring out the same sliver of glass where the green slopes lie. Even beyond the capital, each town holds its unique charm.

“Yeah,” Seongwoo echoes.

“When I was younger I wanted to buy a house where I was surrounded by both the mountain and the sea. Or at least have some body of water. I suppose it has to do with growing up in Busan. I might be allergic to the brine but still miss the water.” Minhyun chuckles at that, eyes never leaving the scene beyond the window. “And there I would get married. Have two kids. Raise grandchildren. Let them run around what would serve as a summer home for them, spoil them, hand them back to their parents.” His expression is that of fondness. “Some place like this,” Minhyun finishes as he turns to meet Seongwoo’s gaze. For a split second it almost causes Seongwoo to believe he’s on the receiving end of such a look.

“Silly isn’t it?” Minhyun says, following it with a chuckle and a shake of his head.

“No,” Seongwoo finds himself saying, “not at all.”

The laugh that follows makes a baseless comment feel worth being said.

 

 

✈

 

 

Seongwoo is sitting on his own bed, phone in hand. Minhyun is toweling dry his hair as he exits the bathroom and is met with a “I didn’t think much of it back then.” Seongwoo’s brows are furrowed as he continues: “but why did you put down Ruby in the itinerary when you don’t drink?”

It takes a moment for the name to register. Another moment before it rings a bell. “He does,” Minhyun answers through another attempt at drying his hair. “Besides, it is one of Copenhagen’s best cocktail bars and I was curious.”

A second of pensiveness before Seongwoo proffers, hesitant: “Do you want to go?”

Minhyun turns around, raising a brow in Seongwoo’s direction, lips curling into the semblance of a sneer. “You have a drinking problem,” he says, teasingly, letting the towel lie across his bare shoulders.

“I drink in moderation,” Seongwoo insists and tries not to make eye contact with the empty cans of beer lying near the trash can.

“Sure,” Minhyun snorts, unconvinced, and turns back to the mirror. It takes a while before he recalls the question. “…Now?”

Seongwoo shakes his head. “I’m too exhausted,” he starts before his voice dips into a whine as he complains: “Someone dragged me to Kolding and back. Seven hours spent on transportation.” Then with an accusatory glare with the mirror acting as a medium: “You do know that most people go there, spend a night, explore what Kolding has to offer before returning the next day right?” Seongwoo clicks his tongue and wags a finger for extra measure. “Didn’t think you would be this unprepared, Manager Hwang.”

Minhyun scoffs. “Your travel plans are just as inefficient,” he retorts, “if not more.”

“It’s about spontaneity!” Seongwoo protests. Minhyun turns around to watch Seongwoo’s antics unfold. “Going with what draws you more!” And devolves into a ramble trying to defend his travel methods.

Minhyun smirks. “Guess I learned pretty well.”

“Do you always have to win?” Seongwoo grumbles, returning to the phone in hand. Minhyun laughs at that.

 

 

 

“I’m assuming tomorrow night works for you?” Minhyun asks after his hair has dried and he had found a comfortable position on his bed.

Seongwoo hums as a reply, already half way into the realm of dreams. He’s curled on his side with a complete disregard for the blanket in a city far enough away from the equator where October nights can be chilly. There’s a soft sigh that slips past Minhyun’s lips as he adjusts the heater for a higher temperature.

 

 

✈

 

 

Finding Ruby proves to be as difficult as the website had proudly boasted: _Like most good things in life we are not easy accessible_. Followed by _all good journeys start with a leap into the unknown_ ,  a quote from Paul Theroux that seems to echo the sentiment of this entire trip.

The cocktail bar lies in an unmarked townhouse, not far from Gammel Strand, facing the Slotsholmen Canal at the oldest part of town. The only indicators that they are at the right place is the flag that hangs overhead and the man in the black suit that stands in front of the door, filtering through the potential patrons, making sure admittance is only allowed to those over the age of 25. Minhyun admires the effort to stay true to the vision, trying to deter rowdiness, maintaining that air of glamour.

There are multiple rooms, fully furnished. The entire place is packed with individuals immersed in conversation, speaking just loud enough for their companions to overhear. Music spills from the speakers. The color scheme of the rooms, the warm lighting, and the high ceiling is more than enough to distract him from searching for the source of the music.

The bar itself is incredible. The entire wall behind the bar is lined with three rows of various types of alcohol. The bartenders create orders at a pace that can only be described as swift. Both Minhyun and Seongwoo have their drink in hand faster than they had anticipated. Minhyun finds himself drawn to how much fun the bartenders have while they create their concoctions. Or perhaps it is just their passion of the art spilling past their fingertips as they sample what they had created and chat up the few patrons that take up the seats before them.

Minhyun had chosen one of Ruby’s original sours that feature the Danish aquavit. Seongwoo had settled for a seasonal cocktail.

Minhyun decides it is better than he had anticipated after a sip. Most of the alcoholic taste had been covered by whatever else they had mixed into this glass. He nurses his drink, one sip at a time.

 

 

 

Seongwoo rejoins him at the table after fetching his second drink. It doesn’t take long for Minhyun to notice how Seongwoo hasn’t looked away, wondering if he was judging how Minhyun’s glass is still half full. He sets his glass down and decides to look for answers himself. “What are you thinking about?”

A smile forms on Seongwoo’s face. “The first night we met,” Seongwoo answers, honest, “at that bar in Paris.” And even in Minhyun’s vague recollection of that night, he remembers how the lights were much dimmer compared to Ruby, how it did no justice to Seongwoo’s features. Back then Seongwoo had this air of cockiness to him, a contrast to the sincerity held in his eyes now. “And how you were far more interested to be introduced to your drink in hand.” There’s a small chuckle that follows. “Look how far we’ve come,” Seongwoo teases, gesturing at the glass in Minhyun’s hand.

Minhyun decides to play coy, leaning forward on an elbow, a finger tracing the curvature of the glass, allowing the atmosphere of the bar to get to him. “Maybe I’m here to look for someone new.”

The grin on Seongwoo’s face grows wider as he slides next to Minhyun, elbows coming in contact as he gestures in the direction of a distinguished lady that carries herself with grace, hair pulled back into a ponytail that sways with every step she takes. “What about her?”

Minhyun shakes his head and picks up his glass once more. He inclines his head in the direction of a man who had caught up to her with what Minhyun assumes to be her coat and purse in hand. “Seems taken.”

Seongwoo drums his fingers against the table, eyes scanning the room again. He nudges Minhyun as he points out a smartly dressed man in the corner near the windows. “How about him?”

“You’re terrible at this,” Minhyun says with a laugh as the man starts to make conversation with a larger group. Minhyun assumes it is coworkers or friends and would hate to waste anyone’s evening for an awkward attempt at flirtation.

“I’m trying,” Seongwoo huffs, lower lip jutting out as he scans the room once more.

Minhyun shakes his head, lips still curled into a smile. “Well then let’s ditch this scene.”

Seongwoo frowns, puzzled by Minhyun’s sudden statement. “Didn’t like your drink?”

“I do,” Minhyun admits, glancing at the cocktail in hand. “It tastes great,” he says with a shrug, “it’s just that this atmosphere feels so business-like and stiff.” Minhyun gestures at all the people in suits, or the middle aged individuals who seem to have some impressive title attached to their names, or the hushed conversations they had passed by in the other rooms. The initial excitement has worn off and now he just feels out of place.

“Should come during the holiday seasons,” Seongwoo says ( again ) as he finishes the contents of his glass, setting it down with a _clink_. “Scandinavian countries seem to come alive then. Especially in the month of December where the entire nation celebrates the release of their Christmas brew and the streets smell like a mixture of alcohol and puke for 8 hours at the most because this city’s cleaning crew works miracles.”

Minhyun finds himself chuckling at that. “Does everything in your life revolve around beer or coffee?”

“What can I say?” Seongwoo says with a shrug and looks far too pleased with himself. “I’m a true connoisseur of life.”

“What a dull life that must be,” Minhyun retorts, finding himself laughing, once again, at how offended Seongwoo looks.

Minhyun finishes the contents of his drink. He fetches his coat and asks “where to?”

The expression on Seongwoo fades and transitions into a grin as he recites: “I’m not asking you to die for me. I’m asking you to trust me.”

Minhyun face remains impassive. There is a time and place for things and it is amazing how Seongwoo manages to ignore both of those implicit rules. “It’s impressive how you manage to make the most romantic line in Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets so unromantic.”

Seongwoo merely shrugs after flashing Minhyun one of his grins — the kind that leaves Minhyun caught between the desire shove Seongwoo or laugh. “It’s one of my many talents,” Seongwoo says.

“I hope this is you setting the bar so low I can’t be further disappointed,” Minhyun retorts as they step back out into the chilly night of Copenhagen.

Seongwoo clutches his chest and gasps, adding to the dramatic look of shock and betrayal plastered on his face.

Minhyun laughs. Seongwoo really should consider a career in the entertainment industry.

“You should laugh often, and by someone who knows how."

Minhyun deadpans, staring at Seongwoo as if he had sprouted a second head. “No,” he says firmly, shaking his head in disbelief, “it was definitely not about laughing. It was about kissing. I can’t believe you are butchering classics.”

Seongwoo just cocks his head to the side and acts oblivious as he turns on his heels and walks in the direction of whatever he has in mind.

Minhyun sighs, in exasperation, and follows suit.

 

 

✈

 

 

They have wound up back near the University of Copenhagen. Minhyun remains baffled as he finds himself being dragged to a church. From the short amount of time he’s spent in Europe he’s learned that such holy grounds are usually closed to visitors after hours. He has no time to make such a comment before they slip past the doors of the cathedral.

He’s not sure what he expected ( maybe a guard to yell at them to get out ) but surely not this.

One of Copenhagen’s monuments has transformed. The entire cathedral is bathed in a red glow, a contrast to what it looks like during the normal hours. There are some light fixtures lit along the walls to guide individuals. Christ towers from where he stands. He alternates between red and blues. The music the DJs are playing seems to be in harmony with the changing of the light, crafting an atmosphere of ambiance.

Minhyun trails after Seongwoo who climbs the few steps and settles on a beanbag near the foot of the depiction of Christ. Minhyun claims the one beside Seongwoo’s, sitting as he stares at the statue of Jesus who stares serenely down at the humans gathered to enjoy the combination of a holy space with music. He can’t help but wonder if the music playing adds to the look of kindness, of forgiveness, to the features of immobile stone. Minhyun settles back into the beanbag and turns towards Seongwoo.

“What are we doing here?” he whispers louder than he intended.

Seongwoo’s eyes are closed, Hands clasped over his stomach. A look of peace that fractures the moment he does a harsh _shhhhh_.

“Seongwoo…” Minhyun tries again, leaning over, half tempted to rock him awake.

Seongwoo scrunches his nose, moles apparent from his angle. His eyes open suddenly as he glares at Minhyun. “Shut up Minhyun.” He then comes to a sitting position only to shove Minhyun back to a lying position on his beanbag. “Stop talking,” Seongwoo instructs, “stop thinking. Just immerse yourself and enjoy the moment.”

Minhyun frowns. He watches Seongwoo from the corner of his eye. Seongwoo returns to the position he was before: lying down, eyes closed, hands clasped over his stomach.

Minhyun stares at the ceiling, meters above, and studies the architecture of Vor Frue Kirke. It’s hard to see much in this light and Minhyun supposes this is the point of all this. A holy experience that caters to the attitude of Denmark. There’s no epiphany to be made. No one to shove a doctrine down your throat. Just what you make of it. Take it or leave it all depends upon the individual.

So Minhyun closes his eyes, mimicking Seongwoo, and allows the music to transport him elsewhere.

 

 

 

“Did you fall asleep?” Minhyun hears Seongwoo say. He opens his eyes as a response only to find Seongwoo’s face looming over his. Minhyun blinks once, taken back by the proximity before Seongwoo retreats.

“No,” Minhyun answers after clearing his throat, “I was just thinking.”

“About?” Seongwoo asks as a few more wandering souls drift in with a scent reminiscent of Bulldog. “Ah right,” Seongwoo sounds as he watches them lay claim to empty beanbags, “this also would have been an experience.”

Minhyun hums, wondering how disoriented he would have been with all the colors and the music. Which reminds Minhyun: “we should have gone to Christiania.” He can almost see how Seongwoo gapes at him for such a comment. So he chuckles and shrugs. “I would have woven it into the itinerary but he wouldn’t have been comfortable with it. You on the other hand…”

That elicits a laugh from Seongwoo who flops back down. “There’s always next time~”

Minhyun snorts.

The song transitions into another one, seamlessly. It’s impressive how talented these DJs are and how willing they are to spend an evening doing charity work.

“What were you thinking about?” Seongwoo asks, barely audible, after a moment or two.

The music being played reminds Minhyun of the sea. The blue lights further the effect.

Minhyun hums underneath his breath.

“I was thinking,” he says as he turns to face Seongwoo, meeting his gaze, “that we should go to Sweden.”

There’s concern grafted into Seongwoo’s eyebrows, deeply seeded into his eyes. “Are you sure?”

Minhyun smiles. “Yeah. I think it’ll be fun.”

Seongwoo’s expression mirrors Minhyun’s. Elation takes its place in those unwavering eyes. “I’ve never been in a camper.”

“So I’ve heard,” Minhyun mentions with a laugh.

 

 

✈

 

 

Minhyun yawns without bothering to cover up his mouth, trying to shrink into the warmth of his coat to combat the cold morning winds, wishing his glares could be felt. Seongwoo also has his chin tucked into the collar of his coat, both hands jammed into the pockets as he does a little dance.

“I can’t believe you woke me up at the crack of dawn for some bread,” Minhyun grumbles. “Especially considering how late we went to bed last night.”

Seongwoo has the nerve to flash him a grin. “It’s our last day in Copenhagen!” Seongwoo exclaims. “You have to make the most of it! Besides,” he says with a frown, “I can’t believe you’ve been in Europe for three weeks and still haven’t visited a bakery.”

Minhyun’s expression remains unchanged, displeasure still apparent on his face.

Seongwoo nudges Minhyun playfully with an elbow. “Oh come on,” he says, grin growing wider as he swings back and forth, becoming an annoyance near 6 in the morning, “immerse yourself! This is probably what it’s like to live here.”

Minhyun mutters something unintelligible under his breath.

 

 

 

It’s worth waiting in line, Minhyun finds himself thinking the moment he sinks his teeth into the bread. Not that he would ever point it out to Seongwoo who stares at him in expectance. It’s a roll: more like bread than the other items the bakery offers, the blueberry mixed in adds to the flavor.

The small storefront can house only about five interested customers. The interior is lined with bread, pastries, and cake. Seongwoo had managed to exit with his hands full, tsking at Minhyun when he joins him.

Graciously, Seongwoo digs around his bag and pulls out what looks like a complicated knot. A roll with crystallized chocolate wrapped into a neat shape. He tears it in two and hands one half to Minhyun.

“Kanelsnurrer,” Seongwoo explains between bites. His eyes have almost disappeared from how content he looks from that bite alone. “Cinnamon rolls made with Valrhona chocolate.”

The smile only grows wider when Minhyun takes a bite, unable to fight that sense of happiness that visits when one is in the company of good food.

 

 

✈

 

 

Torvehallerne is impressive at a glance. Two glass buildings side by side, taking up an entire block. One mostly has casual dining restaurants, the other mostly for grocery needs. The center courtyard is transformed into what seems like a farmer’s market with fresh produce. There’s an ice cream stand they stop by before Seongwoo begins to debate the pros and cons of having hot chocolate with it.

The glass allows for adequate light to enter the market place so that even in the middle of Torvehallerne it still remains a pleasant shopping experience. The websites boasts 60 stands. They pass by one that sells chocolate, cheese, and caramel to name a few — delicacies from the island of Bornholm. Another one that sells traditional pizzas with ingredients from Denmark. There’s also ones that sell coffee, tapas, sushi, French delicacies, open faced sandwiches, fresh fish, or meat.

They end up stopping at GRØD for porridge that Seongwoo slides into the seat next to Minhyun with minimal complaints. Mostly along of the lines of “porridge? Really?”

Minhyun tries to decipher the menu but not before he gives Seongwoo a look. “Residents of Copenhagen love it. And someone told me to immerse myself so here I am.”

Seongwoo groans before he resorts to joining Minhyun in deciphering the menu, fascinated by the amount of creativity placed into the porridge they craft. One could go salty or sweet. Have something light and simple and traditional or try something new like spelt porridge with chestnut purée, apple, and toasted almonds. Open for breakfast, lunch, and dinner with its own dessert menu for any interested clients.

Minhyun finds himself laughing when Seongwoo begrudgingly admits it wasn’t as bad as he had expected, offering to exchange bites to sample their respective dishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * It doesn't matter if I lived in Copenhagen in 4 months it is the one place I want to go back to live in again. I apologize for all the gushing but I really, really love this place.
>   * The [Church of Our Savior](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/d9/Copenhagen_-_Church_of_Our_Saviour_-_2013.jpg) is breathtaking. It also just might be of my fear of heights talking.
>   * [Øl & Brød](http://www.visitcopenhagen.com/copenhagen/ol-brod-gdk919916) literally just means Beer and Bread. Add coffee & music and it literally just becomes fic Seongwoo's favorite place on earth.
>   * You have to go to Denmark, preferably Christmas season, to truly experience the term [Hygge](https://www.visitdenmark.com/denmark-hygge).
>   * [Tivoli Gardens](http://www.visitcopenhagen.com/copenhagen/tivoli-gardens-gdk424504) might be my favorite place on planet Earth. Probably also the heart of the reason as to why I want to return to Copenhagen so badly for the Friday nights and that feeling of hygge.
>   * This is [Æbleskiver](https://opskrifteradmin.coop.dk/media/recipeimages/866/9118/1920/aebleskiver_original.jpeg?width=850&upscale=false). This is [flødeboller](https://www.odense-marcipan.dk/media/1523099/floedeboller-med-citronskum-karamel-og-hasselnoedder.jpg). And this is [black licorice](https://munchies-images.vice.com/wp_upload/licorice_IMG_5649.jpg?crop=1xw:0.9288990825688074xh;center,center&resize=0:*).
>   * This is [Amalienborg Palace](https://www.visitcopenhagen.com/copenhagen/amalienborg-palace-gdk492887), [Little Mermaid](https://www.visitcopenhagen.com/copenhagen/little-mermaid-gdk586951), and [Ny](https://www.visitcopenhagen.com/copenhagen/nyhavn-gdk474735) [havn](https://farm5.static.flickr.com/4390/35831221643_f2e348f02f_b.jpg). Kind of like the tourists must go places in Copenhagen or you missed the entire point of the city.
>   * More information on [Nørrebro](http://www.visitcopenhagen.com/copenhagen/culture/multicultural-norrebro) and [Vesterbro](http://www.visitcopenhagen.com/copenhagen/hipster-vesterbro) if you click the names.
>   * Arne Jacobsen's [kubeflex](http://www.leparadox.com/design/a-visit-to-arne-jacobsens-summer-house-in-kolding-denmark/) [summer house](https://danish.tm/article/house-go-1970-2015/) is another example of how pictures fail to capture the essence of being in a certain space.
>   * Ruby is a gorgeous [cocktail bar](https://www.worldsbestbars.com/bar/copenhagen/city-center/ruby) with an amazing constantly changing [menu](https://rby.dk/current-menu/). Located at the end of [Gammel Strand](https://www.visitcopenhagen.com/copenhagen/culture/gammel-strand).
>   * The [quote](https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/7234557-you-should-be-kissed-and-often-and-by-someone-who) Seongwoo recites is in reference to Margaret Mitchell's Gone With the Wind.
>   * For more information about the Church with the DJ, check this [article](https://theculturetrip.com/europe/denmark/articles/how-a-dj-spiritually-awakens-people-at-this-copenhagen-church/) out.
>   * This is the [bakery](https://www.visitcopenhagen.com/copenhagen/meyers-bageri-jaegersborggade-gdk588006) they line up for and what a [kanelsnurrer](http://static14.gorenje.com/imagelib/full/default/markets/Denmark/Campaigns/Best%20at%20bread/Recipes/kanelsnurrer.jpg) looks like.
>   * [Torvehallerne](https://www.visitcopenhagen.com/copenhagen/gastronomy/torvehallerne) deserves a full day or multiple visits. I hate porridge/oatmeal but loved [GRØD](https://www.visitcopenhagen.com/copenhagen/grod-gdk560597).
> 



	5. STOCKHOLM

“Didn’t you have coffee on the flight here?” Minhyun says after they had ordered and managed to find a seat in the busy Café Saturnus. “I can’t believe you are taking a coffee break again and it is only,” Minhyun takes a quick glance at his watch, “11 am.”

In front of Seongwoo is a large latte bowl with a heart drawn on the surface. Minhyun had settled for tea but between them lies the legendary cinnamon bun as large as his face. Seongwoo, of course, decides to ignore his point by tearing into the cinnamon bun and settling back in his chair once he has a decent sized pastry in hand.

“This isn’t about my caffeine problem,” Seongwoo says lazily, lips curling into some self satisfied expression that gets on Minhyun’s nerves, “it is about cultural immersion.”

Minhyun snorts in reply.

“No really,” Seongwoo insists, “it is a ritual. ‘Fika.’” He does a small wave in Minhyun’s direction. “Look it up.” Only to sigh when Minhyun makes no move to do so and takes a sip of tea instead as he stares at Seongwoo pointedly.

“The essence of fika is about making time to take a break,” Seongwoo explains, “almost meditative in a sense: forcing you to pause your busy day and take a moment for yourself.”

“Sounds like a theme for your proposed coffee shop,” Minhyun notes, hiding the curl of his lips behind the rim of the porcelain cup.

“Fika by day and hygge by night?” Seongwoo hums in consideration. “Sounds like a plan.”

Minhyun shakes his head. “A disaster to execute with how vague you’ve kept it.”

“You’re such a delight to keep around,” Seongwoo says sarcastically.

Minhyun only smiles in reply. “Second thoughts on inviting me to your coffee shop?”

“Nah,” Seongwoo sounds with a quick shake of his head. “I have to prove you wrong and introduce you to this delightful world of coffee.” Pointedly tipping his head as he raises his latte bowl in Minhyun’s direction.

Minhyun makes a face. “I think I’ll pass.”

Seongwoo’s lower lip juts out into a pout. “At least stick around to watch the brewing process. It almost looks like alchemy with a siphon.” He watches Minhyun carefully as if trying to extract a response, settling back with another pleased expression when he determines that gleam in Minhyun’s eyes to be that of curiosity.

Understanding that he is at a disadvantage, Minhyun switches the topic of the conversation at hand: “where to next?”

Seongwoo wags a finger in Minhyun’s direction, taking a dramatic sip of coffee, as he reminds Minhyun “fika. Taking a break for yourself.” Only to chuckle when Minhyun heaves a sigh and resorts to finishing the contents of his cup.

“Anywhere you feel like going,” Seongwoo decides to say when Minhyun is in between bites of the cinnamon bun. “We could explore the ‘world’s longest art gallery’ via the metro system. Stop at each station and marvel at the underground art that utilizes the granite tunnels. Or we could head to the Old Town for a glimpse at the palace, cathedral, and the Nobel Museum. Or explore SoFo. It has artisan bakeries and cafes, vintage shops, other small stores.” Seongwoo pauses to laugh at the expression that has surfaced on Minhyun’s face after his statement. “We could have brunch a Urban Deli which is a grocery store and restaurant,” Seongwoo continues, “and then an afternoon stroll through Kungsträdgården. But whatever you choose we are definitely having meatballs for dinner.”

Minhyun hums under his breath. “Let’s go with the first one and see where we end up.”

 

 

✈

 

 

“Really?” Minhyun says as he locks his foot into place on the snow ski, “we came all the way to Sweden to ski?”

“It’s different!” Seongwoo protests. It comes out muffled from the way his teeth are clenched around his pair of gloves as he tries to strap himself into the equipment.

“How so? There are slopes in Korea too,” Minhyun points out, waiting patiently as he slips on his own gloves.

“A different scenery!” Seongwoo exclaims, “more powdery snow! Besides, slopes in Korea don’t open until November. Who else gets to boast about skiing in October?”

“That’s low on my list of priorities,” Minhyun retorts as he begins to make his way towards the lift. But the equipment causes it to look more like a waddle, which elicits a chuckle from Seongwoo. Minhyun returns the gesture when Seongwoo attempts to catch up.

 

 

 

It’s been a while since Minhyun had skied. The last time was at least a couple years ago but all of his qualms are forgotten as legs swing in mid air and Seongwoo makes an issue out of everything he spots in the distance, guessing at buildings and locations of Stockholm despite it being his first time here. Even more so when they arrive and the first words out of Seongwoo’s mouth are _I’ll race you_.

 

 

 

Minhyun ends up breathless and giddy from the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He’s certain his cheeks are as red as Seongwoo’s, tips of ears are also stained in the same color as he attempts to catch his breath. The brisk air almost hurts from each inhalation yet somehow remains refreshing.

“You should have told me you were good at this,” Seongwoo complains.

“You never asked,” Minhyun retorts and finds himself laughing at the expression on Seongwoo’s face. And as if he was infected by Minhyun’s laughter, Seongwoo’s expression softens.

“Maybe we should rise up to a challenge,” Seongwoo starts, expression playful, “try snowboarding instead.”

 

 

 

It’s not the worst idea Seongwoo has ever had, Minhyun tries to reassure himself when he ends up with a face full of snow after tripping and falling down the short beginner practice slope Hammarbybacken has designated for individuals like them. It feels like his legs are chained together ( they are ) and balance an intangible concept but at least he’s not alone. Seongwoo’s hair is speckled with snow, eyelashes dusted with white flecks in a way that accentuates the way pink taints his cheeks. When he laughs, Seongwoo joins him.

Minhyun flops over: just allowing himself to lie there, soaking in the blue sky above, ignoring how dangerous this act is.

It isn’t long before Seongwoo looms before him, both hands outstretched, offering to help him up.

Minhyun stares at them for a second before reaching out to take them.

 

 

✈

 

 

It took a while before they decided on which mini camper to rent. Seongwoo wanted something kin to a Saab campervan that was fully furnished for comfort. Also because it felt like a true campervan experience. Minhyun wanted a simple mini camper that included all the amenities needed but felt a lot like any other vehicle on a road trip. In the end they went with Minhyun’s choice ( not without a few complaints ) because he was paying for and managed to appease Seongwoo by letting him drive.

Bergslagen is beautiful: the lakes along the way and the remnants of its iron history with the mines that can transport an individual to another time. They take a quick stop at Nora, exploring the quaint town with its wooden houses, and deliberately going for the soft ice cream it is so famous for.

But it takes a turn in Bohuslän. The road grows narrow as they wind along the cliffs. Minhyun rolls down the window, resting an arm against the edge as he stares out at the cliffs and the sea, taking pictures of the flowering fields along the way, pointing out the red boathouses. They pass through towns and cities Minhyun does not dare attempt to pronounce and end up in Hamburgsund where Minhyun is reminded of his hometown. There’s a different charm to it but the scent of brine takes him back, makes this memory even fonder.

 

 

 

There’s no real destination. Minhyun finds himself not minding as he hooks his phone to the system and allows music to spill through the speakers, shuffling them at random. So for one moment it might be a classic by Big Bang and then followed by the newest release from Red Velvet or one by Standing Egg. He gets the occasional judgmental side glances from Seongwoo he ignores but more often than not Seongwoo is humming under his breath ( when the lyrics have escaped him ) or pouring his heart out into small space of the car ( body making an attempt to jam out despite the hold of the seat belt ).

During a particular uninteresting stretch of road, Bolbbalgan4’s Galaxy plays. Minhyun chuckles, delighted, when Seongwoo joins him.   

> When the day breaks  
>  I’ll sleep by your side again  
>  I fall asleep under the stars  
>  and it’s like I have the whole universe

It ends with in harmony with _I’ll give you my galaxy_ and Minhyun is too animated to chide Seongwoo for taking his eyes off the road when Seongwoo jokes with a chuckle: “You probably end up with a lot of numbers by the end of a karaoke session.”

Minhyun joins him with a chuckle of his own as he leans back against the headrest, smile playful as he asks: “Are you asking for mine?”

“Nah,” Seongwoo sounds, eyes returning to the road, “you look like a heartbreaker to me.”

Minhyun laughs. “You don't sound half bad yourself,” Minhyun notes, moderately impressed. Of course he had heard a snippet of it during their rendition of The Manual but that had been a quiet, under the breath cover. This, however, is much more representative.

Minhyun’s smile grows as he takes note of the way Seongwoo flushes at that phrase.

 

 

 

It takes another hour before Minhyun can convince Seongwoo to switch off with him, pointing out how Seongwoo is clearly getting tired, shutting off all complaints and acts of bravado by showing Seongwoo his driver’s license. Minhyun makes a mental note to enforce a rotation schedule for every four hours or at every stop they take tomorrow.

 

 

✈

 

 

The façades of the World Cultural Heritage site are as breathtaking as the pictures on the official tourist website prove to be. It’s very different from Nyhavn despite the façades and waterfront similarities. The colored townhouses, albeit muted in colors, seem to lean upon each other ( or fall into each other as Seongwoo points out at one particularly lopsided looking one ).

Between the alleys of the historical wooden houses along the quay lie shops selling a variety of crafts: jewelers, potters, leathers and textiles, and the list goes on. They stand, transfixed, watching a lump of clay take form between a pair of hands as the chorus of cellos fills the space between.

Daylight has begun to recede by the time they have finished browsing the alleys. The light that illuminates each façade from within is reflected upon the water. The creeping blues of a darker shade in the sky above only accentuates the golden beams of light that wavers on the surface. Minhyun pauses and looks out towards the dock.

“When people speak of _paradise_ they think of palm trees and beaches.” He meets Seongwoo’s gaze and proffers a smile. “For me,” he starts, “it might be here.”

There’s a knowing smile offered in his direction and Minhyun supposes this is what it comes down to: that sense of tranquility.

 

 

✈

 

 

Minhyun sits across from Seongwoo, mildly impressed as he surveys the restaurant they are seated in, inside Oslo’s Opera House. It is a simple theme of light colors, mostly revolving around white, with glass bulbs and a silver abstract brick like wall that accentuates the atmosphere. A soft candlelight glow to each table: the warm color contrasting against the blue that filters in between the logs of white that guards the long rectangular window that provides the only scenery of the outside world.

“You had to have booked this in advance,” Minhyun remarks after they had ordered and thanked the waiter for his recommendations, noting the number of occupied tables. Seongwoo remains silent, finding more fascination in the glass of water before him than the conversation topic. Minhyun’s smile grows. “Did you book immediately after you suggested this road trip? Before I even agreed to come?”

Seongwoo clears his throat. “There’s no harm in making a reservation,” he says, unable to meet Minhyun’s eyes.

“Oh?” Minhyun sounds, the lilt in his voice mirrors the amusement that is expressed in his eyes.

“I admittedly took a few pages from your book,” Seongwoo says, still averting Minhyun’s eyes, “but this is the only excursion planned beforehand and not just the night prior.”

“You’re a changed man, Ong Seongwoo,” Minhyun teases, laughing in a way that when Seongwoo tells him to shut up, he takes no offense in it.

 

 

 

“Did you know?” Minhyun asks during that lengthy wait between the last dinner course and the preparation of dessert. He watches the way Seongwoo stirs the wine in the glass, assuming Seongwoo does but the desire for confirmation prompts him to press further. “Tonight was supposed to be our third year anniversary.”

It is followed by a short nod Minhyun had been expecting and the conversation falls towards silence. Minhyun stares at the glass of water in front of him, wondering how much longer it would take for the last dish to arrive.

But before it gets here, before the waiter even arrives with a cup of coffee, Seongwoo speaks up with a tentative: “can I ask how you guys met?” Followed by a “you don’t have to, I was just—”

Minhyun just shrugs. Part of him had always expected that breaching this topic would be painful: a thousand pricks to a heart where the fault lines are so easily identifiable. Maybe it’s how full his stomach is. Maybe it’s how these past few days he barely spared his ex ( how long had it taken for Minhyun to call him as such? ) a thought: between the dirt of the road and the music softly spilling through speakers, between the lights that shine from million of light years away and the fresh smell of dew in the morning, between burning gasoline and stories that run in circles that touch upon everything and anything. It hurts a lot less than he had envisioned it to be when he parts his lips and begins the process of reminiscence.

“We had one class together during our last year of university, paired together to work on a project and honestly I didn’t have a great impression of him at that time,” Minhyun chuckles, shaking his head. “He was always a bit late, looking like he had just rolled out of bed and I had better things to do than wait on a dude who couldn’t get his life together,” Minhyun says, noting how Seongwoo’s lips quirk at that statement, guessing Seongwoo is itching to make a remark as to how Minhyun still hasn’t changed much from back then, “if it wasn’t for the fact that my grade weighed upon this.” There’s a short pause before an offhanded wave of the hand. “But you know how acquaintances become more familiar and I realized that his supposed ‘lack of interest’ was from the stress of trying to arrange his final portfolio for his major rather than laziness or an unorganized life style and decided to help him out.”

Minhyun decides not to expand on that. The memory still fond. Still fresh. He ends it with a dismissive “lost contact after that because that’s how life works.”

“And then,” smile turning wry as he says the next part, “we met again during one of those reunions that I decided to attend on a whim.” One of Jonghyun’s suggestions further fueled by Minki’s comments about _networking!_  even though it was more about curiosity in regards to where people have gone and what they have become over the years. “He was all cleaned up,” Minhyun recalls, still able to describe in detail how he looked, tips of his ears still threatening to turn red from memory alone, “brimming with a sort of confidence he lacked during our university days, and we hit it off.”

He offers Seongwoo a smile. It isn’t quite returned. Hard to decipher the expression in this light. Maybe it is of sympathy, maybe of understanding like he’s worn Minhyun’s shoes before. So Minhyun leaves it at that.

No wonder people find it therapeutic to put words on paper, spilling out the contents of their hearts, learning to seek the stitches even if it splits the wound a bit more. No wonder people used to say that words have power. Here, where it remains suspended in air thick and far too tangible, Minhyun finds clarity.

“Thank you for listening,” Minhyun says when the dessert has finally made its appearance and the waiter had cleared away the empty plates and unnecessary utensils.

 

 

✈

 

 

They are huddled outside the campervan, still bundled in their jackets, trying to cool the contents of the bowl in hand by blowing on it even though raising it into the cool air might do more. Silence settles over them comfortably, only giving way to the sounds of slurping and the exhaled breath of a bite too warm for comfort. During a particularly bad one, Seongwoo flails, causing Minhyun to chuckle at the sight as Seongwoo whines as he fans his tongue. Patience a fleeting concept when faced with hunger.

Minhyun finishes faster than Seongwoo. There’s a question that has been simmering in the back of his mind for a while now, one he probably should have asked all those weeks ago. But back then unfamiliarity was more than enough for Minhyun to continuously dismiss it. Now, with the canvas of stars overhead and steam wafting from the pot they had brought to a boil, it seems appropriate.

“Why did you decide to embark on this journey with me?” Minhyun finds himself asking. Seongwoo’s _if you have something to say, say it_ rings in Minhyun’s mind. The way he barely looked up from his phone from the next bed over before Minhyun got comfortable enough to speak his mind and ramble for hours where Seongwoo learned to hum in the right places until he got fed up. _The worst thing that can happen is it being ignored_. Back then Minhyun wanted to point out there was the possibility of negative emotions but tamped down. It still holds true, for the most part.

“I mean,” Minhyun amends, “if I were you, I would spend what’s left of my time here to revisit all my favorite places. When were you supposed to have departed for Seoul anyway?”

“Last week,” Seongwoo answers with a shrug as he scrapes the last contents of his bowl and inhales it all. “They are happy as long as I have a stub to prove that I am actually returning at some date.” He sets the empty bowl down, before meeting Minhyun’s gaze.

“I was,” Seongwoo confesses, “going to hit up all the places I grew fond of over the years, places I knew I would miss dearly. Why I was in Paris of all places to begin with.” He points it out with a laugh as he leans back into the chair, seeing past all the smoke, seeing into the expanse of sky above. “Other than the fact I could leech off of you,” Seongwoo jokes, “is how the itinerary detailed places I did want to revisit and places I have never explored before. Thought it would be a fun way to pass time.”

“I didn’t want to go back. Still don’t I guess,” Seongwoo says. Minhyun is grateful for the quietness of their surroundings. Words so easily lost in a sea of people. “I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. Threw something out there just to appease my father. But now…” he trails off and closes his eyes, “I’m a bit excited to see it through.”

Seongwoo’s eyes open lazily as he turns his head to meet Minhyun’s gaze and smiles. “Thanks to you.”

Minhyun ignores the feeling that rises, settling for resting an elbow against the arm rest and balancing his chin in the palm of hand as he asks: “what places would you like to see again?”

Seongwoo’s smile grows Cheshire. “Planning your next European trip?”

Minhyun laughs, leaving Seongwoo with an open: “maybe.”

Seongwoo hums as he contemplates. “Too many places,” he concludes, “mostly on the other side. Venice with its intricate canal system. Rome alive with its layers of history on top of each other and you breathe it all in. Istanbul, of course, where the two continents meet and the character of the city just shines through. Berlin. Somehow it always comes back to Berlin. The Museum Island. The Berlin Wall. Christmas markets and strolling through it with a warm cup of glühwein in hand.”

“Maybe it is wishful thinking,” Seongwoo acknowledges, “believing that I will be back some day, with another chance to revisit, so expanding my horizons — going places I have never gone before takes priority.”

“Next time…” Seongwoo trails off, barely audible, before shaking his head and forcing a smile onto his face as if the words were never spoken.

Minhyun leaves the option open with a small smile of his own.

 

 

 

Although this is ( hopefully ) the last night where they are crammed into the back of the camper van, where the trunk and the back row have been made into a makeshift bed, it feels like the first. But instead of passing out from exhaustion or complaints about dried eyes, it’s just anecdotes based upon what was asked or the ramblings of a mind. Not quite wanting to fall asleep as of yet.

“You know,” Seongwoo starts, curled on his side and facing Minhyun, “I’ve always wanted to embark on a road trip since I was a child. Back then I justified it as traveling but honestly I think I just wanted to run away from home. Go on the road. No destination in mind. Drive to nowhere and everywhere. There’s something soothing about driving. Hands on a wheel, a mind free from considering all your problems if you choose.”

Minhyun nods. Gets it in some roundabout way that stems from the enjoyment of driving and his love of seeing places — the unquenchable lust that only grows with each place he experiences.

“I don’t know why I didn’t do it sooner,” Seongwoo confesses, voice soft.

Minhyun just observes Seongwoo from this angle. The way his lashes come together lazily with each progressive second, sleep slowly gaining its hold on him. How he had said all this with some degree of trust and toed embarrassment after he had finished speaking. How his fringe falls into his face, tempting Minhyun to brush it away out of habit like he does for so many of his friends.

“Why are you looking at me like I'm something interesting?”

Minhyun blinks. “You are.”

And even if he fails to see the way Seongwoo’s cheeks become tinged with a shade of red in this dim lighting, he can make out how Seongwoo shrinks upon himself half a beat late, with his head tucking towards his chest, almost burrowing into his sleeping bag as shoulders rise and hands try to cover the way his lips press into a line or curl depending on the degree of embarrassment.

Minhyun’s grin and amusement grows as he leans in closer, debating whether or not he should tap the hand that is currently covering Seongwoo’s face. “I didn't think the mighty and bold Seongwoo would be shy,” he teases.

There’s a half hearted groan that comes from under all that, followed by a “shut up Hwang Minhyun” he bursts out laughing to. 

 

 

✈

 

 

The only schedule of the afternoon is Tipsy Tea At Six to sample their eclectic collection of gin inspired cocktails served in teapots. Although they probably wouldn’t mind if they visited it later this evening or not at all.

Minhyun explores the upper level of the National Library of Sweden as Seongwoo trails not far behind. It’s a pity the entire collection will remain foreign to him, Minhyun thinks as finger brush against spines of books, wondering what it would be like if such a library could be accessible to him. Maybe it was time to pick up his hobby again. Make time for a book on the weekends. After all, there is nothing to preoccupy his weekends anymore other than the routine cleaning.

And as if picking up that trail of thought Seongwoo says: “what if I installed a few bookshelves in the coffee shop? Create space for people to read.”

Minhyun frowns. Turns towards Seongwoo and says: “it sounds like an amalgamation of things you want to present, without a collective theme to bring it together. What makes it different from any other coffee shop?”

“Is this how you gained your promotion?” Seongwoo replies, tone playful, before he entertains the thought with more careful consideration. “You’re right,” Seongwoo agrees, “people flock to a place for the theme and then evaluate the service, the food, the drink, the cleanliness, and the atmosphere.”

But before he can continue postulating the  _what if_ s Minhyun doesn’t believe in, Minhyun interjects with a gentle “I only want to see you succeed.”

The smile that the simple sentiment earns is brighter than the light that spills in from the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Refuel with Fika is a lovely concept, read more about it [here](http://www.elledecor.com/life-culture/food-drink/a13858164/fika-swedish-coffee-break/). Also, just for those interested, originally Ong's coffee shop was going to be more about fika than hygge but there exists a coffee chain in Seoul called [Fika](http://www.thecoffeechaser.com/fika-swedish-coffee-break/).
>   * Most of the ideas about things to do in Stockholm comes from this [lovely page](https://www.timeout.com/london/travel/21-stunning-things-to-do-in-stockholm).
>   * [Underground art](https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/gallery/2016/jun/04/underground-art-stockholms-colourful-metro-stations-in-pictures) is beautiful.
>   * [Saab campervans](https://jalopnik.com/this-old-saab-motorhome-looks-like-a-kitty-loaf-1590776530) are cute but well I guess we all have to be practical and end with [this](http://www.campervansweden.com/camper-sweden-campervan). (They went with the Go.)
>   * The coastal route they travel along comes from a [recommendation](https://www.camping.se/en/Campingse-International/Destinations/Routes/Routes-worth-a-detour/) about routes worth a detour. And for more information about Nora's ice cream factory check out an article [here](http://www.theicecreamblog.org/ice16013.php).
>   * I want to go to [Bergen](https://en.visitbergen.com/things-to-do/bryggen-in-bergen-p878553) and witness [Bryggen](https://www.visitnorway.com/places-to-go/fjord-norway/bergen/behind-bryggen/) with my own eyes.
>   * [Oslo's Opera House](https://www.visitnorway.com/places-to-go/eastern-norway/oslo/oslo-opera-house/) will eternally be memorable. I was fortunate enough to enjoy dinner [there](https://www.visitoslo.com/en/product/?TLp=981089&Argent-Restaurant) (and to this day I still can't forget about the fish I had. It is that good).
>   * The last two destinations are taken from the things to do in Stockholm but I also want to highlight [Tipsy Tea](https://www.luxurytravelforwomen.com/single-post/2017/03/27/Get-Tipsy-At-Six). Sounds like my type of afternoon.
> 



	6. REYKJAVÍK

Iceland is as breathtaking as The Secret Life of Walter Mitty had depicted it to be. But there is a difference between seeing it on a large screen in the theater, surrounded by the scent of butter and freshly made popcorn, and actually being here — standing on soil, wind tousling through hair, inhaling the dewy scent.

Seongwoo points out a peak in the distance, proudly declaring: “the volcano no one can pronounce the name of.” Minhyun just stares at him blankly. “You know,” Seongwoo says, face falling, “the one that sounds like a sneeze?”

Minhyun shakes his head.

“Sense8,” Seongwoo says, hoping it rings a bell.

“That’s the one with Bae Doona, right?” Minhyun replies as Seongwoo shakes his head in dejection.

“I can’t believe you haven’t watched it.”

“It’s on my list,” Minhyun defends, “but after work mindless dramas are nicer to watch.”

“But it’s so good?” Seongwoo almost wails. “It is about connections. About empathy. About sharing. About how strangers can become friends and individuals you can trust if you let them in. A powerful narrative — both within a cluster and beyond it. How we can be changed by the mundane act of getting to know another individual.”

Minhyun decides not to read into the words or the smile Seongwoo offers and answers with an elusive: “I’ll check it out eventually.”

“Well,” Seongwoo says, “if you are the type to like watching with other individuals, you know where to find me.”

 

 

 

The hike to Seljavallalaug Pool is a lot more difficult than he had expected ( probably due to Seongwoo’s complaints ). It lies at the bottom of the valley near the volcano they have both given up on trying to pronounce with too many j’s and l’s to its name. It sounds butchered on their tongues and a name like that deserves to be more than a punchline. The pathway is mostly rocky. A stream that was unexpected but not terrible to cross over. The landscape that surrounds them is intense in its dark jagged appearance, giving them something to marvel at during the fifteen to twenty minute long trek.

The complaints die as soon as they reach the destination. A 25 meter long, 10 meter wide pool at the bottom of the valley. When the sun’s rays hit it just right, the mountains surrounding the pool gets reflected upon the water, dying the pool with hues of green and brown. A slice of paradise: forgotten.

The water is a lot more comfortable than Minhyun had expected, warmer due to its supply from the hot springs nearby. The changing room lies on the other end where the mountains seem to embrace the white walls. Seongwoo floats on the surface of the pool, face content as he seems to become one with the water. Minhyun closes his eyes and plunges deeper.

Funny how he seems to have found his private sanctuary on the other side of the world.

 

 

✈

 

 

Seven days are hardly enough to explore this island. The same is true for any city Minhyun has had the pleasure of visiting these past few weeks but it rings especially true as they explore the Mývatn area in North Iceland.

Minhyun stands at the edge of Höfði. The panoramic view of Kálfastrandavogar cove and Lake Mývatn lays out before him. The water is clear from this vantage point — a shade of jade or emerald so alluring it tempts one to dive and be dyed in its color.

Apparently, before the Krafla eruption in 1975-1984, Grjótagjá rift used to be a place that could be bathed in. A crack in a cave filled with water with only two entrances leading to the thermal blue water, now too hot for anyone to bathe in. Even from the sheer proximity as they try to take a few pictures proves to be a bit warm.

They follow the trail. The entire area is filled with geothermal hot springs. An exploration leads them to descend down a path where the jagged walls rise high above their heads and ferns can be spotted along either side. Spots of moss decorate the rock, giving color to the bland gray so it looks like some painter’s palette. There are holes in the wall Seongwoo spots first as he points them out as they trek through Stóragjá rift.

They decide to take a lunch break at Vogafjós: sampling the home-made cheese and mozzarella, postulating how the rye bread was made, enjoying the tea and jam they were served, and making noises of content over the smoked lamb and trout. It’s there that Minhyun gets inspired to try to make something for dinner. It’s there that Seongwoo distracts him by heading to the cowshed and ends up cooing over a calf as it allows Seongwoo to pet it.

“We could have just stayed at their guesthouse,” Seongwoo points out, expression turning petulant as he trails after Minhyun.

Minhyun ignores him in favor of maneuvering the cart around a corner, studying the labels on the shelves to find the one most suitable for what he has in mind. “It’s a log house,” Seongwoo continues even though they have long left the area, “and it looks cozy.”

“We already paid for renting our camping materials,” Minhyun points out. And before Seongwoo can make another complaint, Minhyun says: “help me out. What would you like for dinner?”

“Can you cook?” Seongwoo asks dubiously as he matches his pace with Minhyun’s and offers to take the cart from him, allowing Minhyun to focus on hunting, “Or is this going to be an episode of Three Meals a Day?”

“I’m pleased to know you have this much faith in me,” Minhyun says dryly.

But they end up getting lost in the walk in fridge, huddling close because neither of them had expected something like this and had left their jackets in that rented car ( where the paint was peeling and it looked a bit rusted but had a personality of its own ). Neither of them eager on heading back out to fetch it. So between rubbing forearms to generate heat from friction and teeth threatening to chatter at any given moment, Seongwoo and Minhyun debate over the types of readymade salads. Namely _spread it on a piece of bread and we got ourselves a sandwich!_ and _what’s the fun in such a simple meal_   followed by a contemplative _could save us a lunch._ Especially if they pull something like today and decide to venture in nature without realizing there aren’t many places to quell a grumbling stomach.

Then they round the corner and spot the rows of cheese, dairy, and processed meats. In which, Seongwoo picks up a tub of Smjor and Minhyun kindly asks him to put it back and Seongwoo rebukes with a _where is your spirit for adventure_. Minhyun holds his tongue. How in the world are they going to finish a tub of butter in 5 days? The thought disappears soon as Minhyun’s attention gets drawn to the odd labels and logos that go with it, trying to guess at what the product is or what it goes towards with Seongwoo’s help. And somehow the hours slip by faster here than it does back home.

 

 

✈

 

 

Minhyun is convinced they’ve broken some law but Reynisfjara Beach looks drastically different at night than it does in the morning. In the morning it was blue against black. The beach less sandy and more rocks and small pebbles — the remnants lava being embraced by the ocean and cooled instantly the moment they met.

A little further is the basalt columns. Here it forms a pyramid like a staircase reaching towards the sky. During dusk the entire scene was doused with violet with a streak of gold in the middle. And now the columns tower over Minhyun and Seongwoo from where they lie, trying not to twitch too much from the way the “black sand” digs into their backs, pale in contrast with the darkened sky as billions of stars shine.

Minhyun wonders if he will ever lose that fascination of looking up at the sky and marveling at the lights. Maybe if Seoul had less pollution he would have found astronomy an interesting topic back in the day. Now it is too late and all he can do is gape and wonder what names these pinpricks of light hold.

“I wish I knew the names of stars, of constellations,” Minhyun remarks then chuckles as he shakes his head because “I can’t even figure out which one is the brightest — the North Star.”

“The brightest isn’t Polaris,” Seongwoo says. There’s an amused grin on his face but not unkind. “Polaris is bigger and easy to see, holds nearly still so it seems as if the entire northern sky moves around it,” Seongwoo explains, pointing at a certain star in the sky. “Sirius, on the other hand…” Seongwoo trails off, eyes distant.

> Sirius rises late in the dark, liquid sky  
>  On summer nights, star of stars,  
>  Orion's Dog they call it, brightest  
>  Of all, but an evil portent, bringing heat  
>  And fevers to suffering humanity.

Seongwoo recites, words rolling off his tongue. A rough translation would break the dactylic hexameter so he doesn’t bother and Minhyun never presses for more, mind still swirling as he digests the first line.

“The curator?” Minhyun asks as he realizes how appropriate the first line could be for a caption of a photograph.

There’s a soft hum of confirmation. “We used to head to observatories or planetariums, depending on how much time we had, and identify constellations while contextualizing them into the stories of old. Like how these lines belong to Homer’s Iliad, describing the approach of Achilles towards Troy. And then I asked about who Achilles was and was informed about the swift footed Greek hero. How he avenged his friend’s death and died soon after. How Achilles and Patroclus’ ashes were mixed together to signify their unbreakable bond that would last even into the afterlife. And how Alexander the Great and Hephaestion likened themselves Achilles and Patroclus respectively. How they seemed to follow the same tragic trajectory of dying not long after the grief of loss.”

Seongwoo turns to meet Minhyun’s gaze then. A soft smile that crinkles at the corners, eyes obscured so Minhyun can’t read into them. And before Minhyun can say anything Seongwoo merely exhales a sigh as he shifts, head resting against arm as he looks back up and traces patterns into the sky. Each loop an outline of a constellation followed by a short blurb of a story told in Seongwoo fashion, causing Minhyun to laugh.

The night wanes. Minhyun is certain the black pebbles have made their indents into his skin.

“Do you ever regret,” Minhyun finds the question formulating and slipping off the tip of his tongue, “falling in love with the curator?”

It’s followed by another melodic hum, one of contemplation. “At first,” Seongwoo admits. “I don’t anymore. In a way I’m almost grateful for that meeting,” Seongwoo says with a laugh, “because of this experience I learned that we are transformed by everyone we meet. In one way or another, whether we like it or not, we are never the same person leaving as the one who entered. We pick up habits. Pick up ideologies. Someone could start believing in a god. Or become interested in learning to play an instrument. Or begin to pull a hood over their head while napping on public transportation.”

Clarity is left behind in those eyes. The smile still lingers.

“Even now,” Seongwoo says softly, “you finally know which one is the North Star and the name of the brightest star above.”

 

 

✈

 

 

Hornstrandir Nature Reserve is a sight to behold. One of those places so breathtaking you think you’ve seen it in a film before, maybe a recent Star Wars one. Only to find, to your dismay, this was not one of the locations. Rather, the places visited on the second and third day were filming locations for Rogue One.

It’s almost a field of green as far as the eye can see. Flowering plants and ferns provide the occasional splashes of color that breaks the endless green. What he doesn’t expect despite the website statements is the spotting of a fox ( along with field mice ) and seals that frequent the beach. The fog comes unexpectedly. Leaves almost as sudden. Making it too easy to believe he has been transported elsewhere — some place far from Earth.

Minhyun leans back and takes in as much as his lungs can hold, eyes closed against the rays of the sun as he stays this way for a moment. Two. Exhales it all slowly.

This feeling lingers even as they pitch their tent and set up for the night. Continues even as they lie with belly full, with Minhyun trying to identify Canis Major but becoming too easily distracted by how cold it is, thankful for the warmth of the jacket.

And somehow the conversation drifts to this: a book of poems he was gifted for his birthday quite a few years ago.  _Picked it up because I thought you would like it_ , Intae had said and Minhyun’s chest had almost overflowed with this indescribable feeling but could only read it in fits and starts between work and love. Somehow he’s back here again. In reminiscence. How much longer before it becomes nostalgia?

“The other day,” Minhyun says the way he’s become accustomed to, this sort of comfort where he can say everything and anything without being subjected to judgment, “I recalled a line from a poem he showed me once.”

The stars are beautiful tonight. Like someone had managed to get their hands on a chest full of diamonds and accidentally knocked it over — spilling it against a tapestry of black. They twinkle in the distance, just out of reach.

Minhyun closes his eyes to all this and recites. “Actually you said _Love, for you, is larger than the usual romantic love. It’s like a religion. It’s terrifying. No one will ever want to sleep with you_.” He opens them again, tilting his head so he can capture the expression on Seongwoo’s face, lips curling into the semblance of a smile. “I wonder if it is true.”

“No,” Seongwoo answers, more firm and certain than Minhyun had expected. “No,” he repeats, the syllables sounding less harsh over his teeth. “I think what is terrifying for one person might be just right for another.”

“Like how you would find no value in a cup of kopi luwak, but I would probably cry after tasting such a delicacy,” Seongwoo supplements.

Minhyun chuckles. “I doubt it is this simple.”

But Seongwoo’s eyes are unwavering. Voice bordering quiet when he asks: “why does it have to be complicated?”

Minhyun looks to the cosmos for an answer.

 

 

✈

 

 

The cold threatens to steal all the heat away but the sight alone makes Minhyun surrender all the air in his lungs freely. The cave is formed by two larger caverns, joined by a narrow walkway in the Breiðamerkurjökull glacier. The guide had said something about how these caves melt and form, about how in a few years it might be at a different spot. The impermanence adds to its beauty.

It’s like being washed into the ocean, drowning, but the water has frozen above your head leaving enough air behind for you to remain alive. There’s one section where it seems as if water had come crashing down but then froze over to form a pillar. Another area where the entire ceiling is a pattern of the ripples of water, only heightened by the way light plays against ice. And another where a crashing wave seems to have been stopped in mid motion leaving behind a breathtaking vista, perfect for an _I’ve been here_ photograph.

 

 

 

It’s surprising how quickly someone can adjust. Seongwoo no longer files complaints or forces a break to catch his breath ( well he still does but Minhyun figures it is more of a let us _be_ for a moment rather than tiredness ) but rather continues threads of conversations from days before or begins new ones as they hike towards one of the destinations Minhyun had outlined in his itinerary.

At the end of the trail is the Svartifoss waterfall that stands in the midst of the black basalt lava wall. The water washes over the blocks rock. An impressive sight to behold as one takes in the horseshoe shaped gorge with its dark columns to contrast with the peerless blue of the sky.

What wells up in Minhyun other than this reverence is that twist of melancholy at how there are only two full days left to explore this haven.

 

 

✈

 

 

The first thing that slips past Minhyun’s lips other than an audible hiss when feet dip into water a few degrees too warm is “it’s our second to last night and we have yet to see the northern lights.” There is disappointment laced into his tone, one too hard to hide. All this planning months and months in advance only to boil down to sheer luck.

Seongwoo wades a bit closer as strangers join them in this hole in the earth: an overflowing hot spring where waters meet glaciers and creates a smoke screen. His lips are curled, playful, when he answers: “then stay until you witness one.”

Minhyun snorts. “Then end up jobless.” He lifts his fingers, watching how the water slips through his fingers and rejoins the rest of its brethren. Lips curl, amused by the thought. “Witnessed the aurora. Impressive on a resume.”

“I’ll take responsibility,” Seongwoo says causing Minhyun’s attention to return to his traveling companion. An easy smile accompanies it as he leans an arm against stone, looking far too smug. That bravado he seems to conjure out of thin air, the one that tempts Minhyun to want to roll his eyes. It transitions into a faux frown as Seongwoo ponders aloud: “but you probably burn coffee. Can you bake?” Then taps his chin as he gives Minhyun a once over. “Nah that’s expecting too much. I’ll place you at the register where you can earn your keep. Minimum wage. Bonuses negotiable at the end of the year.”

Minhyun shakes his head, laughing at the notion.

“I’m being serious!” Seongwoo insists despite his tone joking the entire time, joining Minhyun in laughter.

 

 

 

“You know,” Seongwoo speaks after a while, filling the silence, eyes full of wonder as if he’s watching the transition of colors in the sky for the first time, “someone once told me that you only needed to know three things about someone to call them a friend.”

The sun has almost embraced the horizon. It’s nothing Minhyun hasn’t seen before and yet it always seems as if there is something he has managed to miss — something different ; something new ; something to be witnessed.

“Are you saying we aren’t friends?” Minhyun teases.

The pair of eyes that turns towards him is clear, honest, as he says: “are we?” The two words sink into Minhyun’s chest like a pair of weights. He thinks maybe it is due to how long he’s been submerged in this water, causing lightheadedness and shortness of breath. “The day after tomorrow, the moment we take a step onto native land, what becomes of us?”

Minhyun knows Seongwoo has no ill intent — knows from the expression he carries that Seongwoo is merely searching for an answer. And it’s true: the title of a travel companion will no longer be applicable in Seoul. So Minhyun says, forcing a smile he does not feel, “isn’t that precisely why you should reveal what the three things are?”

Seongwoo answers that with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Middle name,” Seongwoo begins with a half hearted chuckle, “that neither of us has. Unless you would like to enlighten me.” Minhyun shakes his head and Seongwoo continues. “Day of birth and favorite color.”

“Sounds like anyone could become a friend,” Minhyun remarks.

“Nah,” Seongwoo sounds, “birthdays are a pain to remember,” mischievousness finding its way back into his tone. “When’s yours?” he asks despite knowing.

“August ninth,” Minhyun replies, walking through the motions.

“On that should be easy to remember,” Seongwoo says, “mine is in the same month. August 25th.”

“And your favorite color?” Minhyun prompts.

“Hmm,” Seongwoo sounds, returning his gaze to the sky above. “It changes, from day to day. Most often it is cerulean. Today it is this.” Seongwoo gestures at the expanse of sky above them, the scene that spreads before them, the mixture of colors humans try to place names to but ultimately fail in describing: a darker shade of teal with a splash of the vividness of pink in the corner where the sun has yet to be tucked in. The last gasp of the evening.

The gaze returns to Minhyun. “And yours?”

Minhyun thinks about if they stay long enough and fingers turn to prunes, still basking in this warmth, and how every time when Seongwoo arches back far enough for his ears to dip into the water — the steam breaks long enough for Minhyun to see past the columns that rise from all that cold that meets this much heat. If they stayed long enough for the stars to rise — how much brighter would they shine against the darkness? What would it look like then when Seongwoo supplies him a scene without knowing it?

An abyss: this gaze ; the canvas meant to be speckled with gathered light from billions of years away.

“Black,” Minhyun says simply as the light recedes into the distance as it always does. And, like always, a softer one takes its place.

 

 

✈

 

 

Tonight, unlike the other nights, when the sun sets instead of a sky turned dark due to the absence of light, becoming a canvas for stars, the edges creep with color. A narrow streak of light. Then, as if someone has set the sky ablaze with green fire, changing with the wind, expanding and shrinking in tandem with the heartbeat of the land. Red weaves into it, coming and going with other colors. The excitement that thrums through Minhyun’s veins leaves him breathless. The phone recording the scene unfolding before him an afterthought as he tries to capture all of this into his heart. All these days of waiting, all those months of meticulously planning finally worth it.

Minhyun has to remind himself to breath.

He’s certain it is the same for Seongwoo.

Minhyun loses track of time, only recalled when Seongwoo speaks.

“If no one proposes to you,” Seongwoo says, pulling Minhyun away from the sight above them that stretches into all corners, “I will on the night before you turn 29.”

The green lights overhead are reflected in those eyes that Minhyun can’t see the bottom of.

Minhyun watches as the brave front starts to falter, with the same wide eyed fascination he had held for the item on his bucket list, the act of confidence that starts to wane with each passing second. The way he tries to keep his expression neutral but fails as a hand reaches the nape of his neck — a rub of embarrassment. How the Seongwoo who approached him at the bar is nowhere to be found. How the first impression he tries to project is nothing like the man beneath the surface. How when he grins, from pure elation, it almost makes him look like a fool but also that much more endearing. How he cares about his appearance but doesn’t care when it comes to making someone else laugh at his expense.

And how Minhyun can almost picture the ways he falls for Seongwoo: slowly but inevitably.

What he doesn’t get is: “why do you like me?” assuming Seongwoo does, of course. Because clearly there was something unlikable about him to land him in this situation to begin with.

“I saw the way you looked at him, the spaces where he could have been, and thought that if someone could look at me the way you looked at him then maybe there was something in me worth loving. I suppose it arose out of envy. But then it became more than that,” Seongwoo says, expression tender in a way that makes Minhyun almost want to cry, because he doesn’t deserve to be on this end of that gaze full of affection. “The other facets of you: the you who tries to be enamored by the notions of romance even though you just had your heart broken. The part of you who is super uptight whenever something you’ve planned doesn’t go your way.” He chuckles but it is full of fondness. “How you want to be flightful and fanciful but whenever something goes wrong, you don’t know how to handle spontaneity. But you do, given time. Manage to pick yourself back up without help and find a way out of it.

“You’re petty and can hold a grudge until I become convinced that you are foreign to the concept of forgiveness. Talk far too much for your own good. Organized and efficient to a point where you almost feel like a robot but you’re not. Attentive because you care — a little too much. How you are gentle in nature when it all comes down to it. And this,” Seongwoo laughs, embarrassed, cheeks tinged in the same shade as his ears, “is from the short six weeks since I’ve come to know you.”

Something gets lodged at the base of Minhyun’s throat. It’s a miracle words make it out of his mouth. “I don't know if I'm worth all this.”

Seongwoo laughs, a little airy, but kind. “Isn't that for me to decide?”

And Minhyun is grateful for the cover of darkness, how even the natural lights above can’t make his expressions too decipherable. There’s a tingly sensation at his nose and he tries to force it away by distracting himself with a small chuckle, forcing that sound of light heartedness. “You are doing everything in the wrong order,” Minhyun points out. “Shouldn’t you properly date me before proposing?”

“It’s not a proposal,” Seongwoo says. There’s no trace of mirth in Seongwoo’s expression. “It is a declaration. I’m coming for your hand and heart, Hwang Minhyun.”

There’s a sensation in his chest that he can no longer fight. The one that causes a smile to break out on his face, the one that surfaces from the depths of his heart as he laughs and says: “I’d like to see you try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Places to go in Iceland was taken from this [website](https://guidetoiceland.is/nature-info/what-to-do-in-iceland). And, like Minhyun, a bucket list type of destination.
>   * [Seljavallalaug Pool](http://www.dailymail.co.uk/travel/travel_news/article-3077992/Come-water-s-lovely-Incredible-hidden-pool-Icelandic-mountains-filled-hot-spring-s-changing-room-feeling-modest.html) is a bit [hard to find](https://iheartreykjavik.net/2013/05/seljavallalaug-a-hiidden-gem-in-south-iceland/) but worth it.
>   * Much of the stuff I obtained about Lake Myvatn Geothermal Area comes from this [post](https://guidetoiceland.is/connect-with-locals/regina/the-amazing-myvatn-area-in-north-iceland). The entire [Vogafjós](https://www.vogafjosfarmresort.is/en/guesthouse) Restaurant is interesting.
>   * God bless this entire blog for saving me but particularly this useful [little guide](https://www.foodiebaker.com/iceland-bonus-supermarket/) to what is it like to shop at a grocery store in Iceland.
>   * For more information about [Reynisfjara Beach](https://adventurousmiriam.com/reynisfjara-black-sand-beach-iceland/) check out this blog. [This](https://a0.muscache.com/ac/pictures/f25be7e0-3360-434d-a125-e6e7abe6a592.jpg?interpolation=lanczos-none&size=x_large_cover&output-format=jpg&output-quality=70) is how it looks like at [night](https://farm8.static.flickr.com/7333/14011430677_ccfc38bfcb_b.jpg)
>   * All the information about Hornstrandir Nature Reserve comes from this [site](http://www.westtours.is/trip-categories/hornstrandir-nature-reserve/). Kopi Luwak, for those who aren't familiar, is the most expensive coffee made from partially digested coffee cherries by the civet. ( Yes droppings are collected to make this coffee. )
>   * The poem Minhyun recites is actually an excerpt from Richard Siken's [Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48158/litany-in-which-certain-things-are-crossed-out).
>   * [Here's](https://guidetoiceland.is/connect-with-locals/jorunnsg/wonders-of-skaftafell-national-park) a guide to Skaftafell Park. [Here](https://localadventurer.com/the-crystal-cave-iceland-vatnajokull/) for the crystal cave. And for more breathtaking pictures try [here](https://glacieradventure.is/kerfi/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/IceCaving33-2-1-1024x683-e1462442280850.jpg) and [here](https://www.icelandtravel.is/servlet/file/store5085/item922008/version3/Ice_Cave_Crystal_Cave_Dennis.JPG).
>   * The hot springs they go to is [Hveravellir](https://www.extremeiceland.is/en/attractions/hveravellir-geothermal-area). Most of this scene was inspired by a piece in Tyler Knott Gregson's _Wildly Into the Dark_ titled "hot springs". One of the lines, in particular, was taken from [this post](http://tylerknott.com/post/170343987717/heres-to-the-last-gasp-of-evening-the-stained).
>   * The last scene takes place at [Thingvellir National Park](https://guidetoiceland.is/connect-with-locals/jorunnsg/ingvellir-national-park). I watched far too many northern lights time lapse videos only to realize that it doesn't capture the full experience. Just like how the last scene captures nothing.
> 



	7. SEOUL

 

✈ THREE YEARS LATER ✈

 

 

“Staying late today?” Seongwoo asks despite the note Minhyun had left on the fridge: informing Seongwoo that he will be working overtime and asking Seongwoo to not wait for him tonight.

“Yeah,” Minhyun’s voice drifts through the receiver and Seongwoo can almost imagine Minhyun running an exasperated hand through his hair as he heaves a sigh, “there’s still so much to be done.”

“Have you had dinner yet?” Seongwoo asks instead, knowing that Minhyun will hang up soon and return to his work, knowing Minhyun’s answer before he says it.

“No,” Minhyun says, curt. Seongwoo takes no offense in it, aware that he had picked up because he wanted a break, understanding he will hang up because his self imposed break is nearing its end.

“Do you want me to grab something for you?”

“No need. I’ll just eat later. I’m not hungry anyway,” Minhyun says.

“I can swing by,” Seongwoo insists, partially because he wants to talk to Minhyun a bit longer, mostly because he wants to make sure Minhyun is eating his meals.

“I’ll be fine Seongwoo,” Minhyun insists.

He’s about to add something when Seongwoo cuts him off with a: “you always nag me about eating at proper intervals throughout the day. Don’t be a hypocrite, Minhyunnie.” He allows it to sound like a whine. It elicits a chuckle from Minhyun.

“Fine,” Minhyun relents and Seongwoo knows there is a small smile that forms on Minhyun’s face.

“Do you want anything in particular?”

“Hmmm,” Minhyun sounds, thoughtful. “Maybe, _soondubu jjigae_ from the restaurant around the corner. The one I took you to a few weeks ago. I’ve been craving it lately.”

“Roger that,” Seongwoo answers smartly with a salute that garners the attention of some pedestrians. He hangs up as he stares at the company building across the street, waiting for the green man to return, and raises the soup he had already ordered for to go in one hand. He can’t fight the smirk that curls his lips, internally pleased at how he had been correct as to what Minhyun would want for dinner.

 

 

 

“Is Manager Hwang here?” Seongwoo asks with a pleasant smile he flashes in the direction of two female employees who are taking a quick break with coffee in paper cups in hand.

One of them perks up and elbows her coworker as they both approach with nods of acknowledgement. Seongwoo bows in return. The other employee looks at Seongwoo warily, eyes landing on the bag in his hand, guessing at the contents.

The first one bats her eyelashes at him in a way that makes Seongwoo want to chuckle, leaning forwards, asking out of curiosity: “so what’s your relationship with Manager Hwang?” She leans in close, as if afraid Minhyun would materialize or that someone else would overhear.

It's been a while since someone has lavished their attention on him in such a way so Seongwoo leans forward, resting his chin on one hand, and allows his lips to curl into the grin reserved for circumstances like this. “Boyfriend,” Seongwoo says.

The first one giggles and waves a hand, dismissive. “No way~”

 

 

 

By the time Minhyun checks the notifications on his phone, he notices that the last two messages are from Seongwoo dated fifteen minutes ago. The most recent one is a sticker. The other one is an enthusiastic  _i'm here!_  

Beyond the confines of the conference room is a chorus of laughter. Dread slowly pools into Minhyun’s stomach, hoping Seongwoo hadn’t said anything unnecessary. “Let’s take a break. Go grab dinner,” he tells the rest of his team as he excuses himself for damage control.

Seongwoo waves enthusiastically from where he stands, deeply immersed in a conversation with two of Minhyun’s coworkers. Minhyun sighs internally when he catches a wink exchanged, half tempted to drag Seongwoo by the ear but there are witnesses around so he refrains. He merely approaches, hands clasped behind his back, stern as he points out: “you better not be flirting with my colleagues.”

He barely notices how one female knocks into another with over enthusiasm, too focused on the way Seongwoo turns his attention to him — eyes crinkling at the corners from pure elation.

“I only have eyes for you,” Seongwoo states simply, far too easily, the tail end of it intoned in a way that comes off as a tease.

Minhyun fights the smile that tries to grow on his face, keeps his tone impassive as he says: “I would hope so.”

He turns on his heels: an indication for Seongwoo to follow.

 

 

 

The conference room is made of glass walls, a tactic meant to instill a sense of transparency, but the blinds have been pulled down for privacy and have stayed that way a month after the office was refurnished. There are still cracks between the blinds and curiosity beckons one to attempt to peer beyond.

What they find is a disregard for personal space that is only restored by the occasional moments where Manger Hwang throws his head back and laughs in a way so uncharacteristic it leaves them wondering if this is the same man they’ve worked with for the past few years. Knees knock into each other, seemingly out of habit. The same can be said for the way the other man leans in with a pout, expecting a bite to be shared.

“This could be the behavior of close friends… right?”

She wrings her hands and receives a firm consolatory pat on the shoulder.

 

 

 

“How did you know what I wanted?” Minhyun asks as he sorts out the contents of the dinner Seongwoo had brought him.

Seongwoo hums in reply as he watches, chin rested on knuckles. “The more stressed you are, the more you crave for food that reminds you of home. You once mentioned how this restaurant makes _soondubu jjigae_ like your grandma did.”

Minhyun stills and turns to meet Seongwoo’s gaze. “You actually listen?”

“One of the downsides of being in love,” Seongwoo shrugs, “don’t recommend it.” He watches the way Minhyun laughs and finds his heart too big for his chest — to the point it almost hurts but Seongwoo has no complaints.

“Isn’t it a bit too late for that?” Minhyun jokes in return as he leans in closer, remnants of that joyful outburst still on his face in the form of a smile.

Seongwoo gasps and bats his lashes. “Are you confessing your love for me?” He nudges Minhyun’s shoulder, asking for a bite. Seongwoo had, after all, bought enough for two. Meals taken in good company leave behind memories.

A chuckle slips past Minhyun’s lips. “You say that as if I don’t remind you every day.”

Minhyun scoops a spoonful of rice that Seongwoo enthusiastically accepts, eyes disappearing into crescents as he smiles — knowing he probably looks like a fool, but no longer caring. Minhyun follows that bite with soup to help Seongwoo chase it down, acknowledging that feeling of bliss that has settled deep within him. Seongwoo’s hold over him is almost terrifying, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Minhyun falls a little bit more in love each day.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, a special thanks to these folks for holding my hand:
> 
>   * my one and only ry, who read each chapter as i wrote it and assured that nasty voice in my head. i don't deserve you. no matter how many lives we live, i shall eternally chase you down ❤
>   * and jo who continued to hype me up during the entire writing process and holding my hand THE ENTIRE TIME EVEN THOUGH THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE FOR YOU I HOPE YOU LIKED THIS! a 100k fic dedicated to your name still wouldn't be enough to repay all that you've done for me ; ^ ;
>   * dez, who tirelessly beta'd and strengthened all the weak points while reassuring me every step of the way. i'll save another nation to be able to encounter you again xoxo
> 

> 
> Nothing keeps me more motivated than your feedback and love, my dear reader! Hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/dulcetfairytale) or [cc](https://curiouscat.me/lucitae) ❤
> 
> P.S. there may or may not be a companion fic to this that makes its appearance during White Day. Hop on over and tell me what you would like to see in the sequel.


End file.
